


A Lair in the Flocked Leaves

by derryday



Category: The Wolf Among Us
Genre: Animal Transformation, Arguing, F/M, Magic, Post-Season/Series 01, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 21:23:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4681952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derryday/pseuds/derryday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Beauty makes hot chocolate, the sheriff of Fabletown has a rather furry and unusual accident, and Snow White takes a day off work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lair in the Flocked Leaves

Never and never, my girl riding far and near  
In the land of the hearthstone tales, and spelled asleep,  
Fear or believe that the wolf in a sheepwhite hood  
Loping and bleating roughly and blithely shall leap,  
My dear, my dear,  
Out of a lair in the flocked leaves in the dew dipped year  
To eat your heart in the house in the rosy wood.  
  
— Dylan Thomas, In Country Sleep

* * *

The headache behind Snow's eyes pulsed in a slow, steady rhythm.

It was better than the stabbing flare-ups from an hour ago, but not by much. She gritted her teeth as she opened another rusty creaking filing cabinet. If Crane ever showed up again, she was going to incarcerate him just for all the bother they were having untangling his messes.

At least she had help. On the other side of the room, Bigby was sorting through another cupboard. It was filled with dusty vials and trinkets, the sort that all but reeked of the Homelands, where even the dust that covered them seemed steeped in magic.

"... and here's the file, Ms. Snow," said Bufkin, flapping past in a breeze of air and landing unsteadily on the top of the cabinet.

She sighed and briefly dug the heel of one hand into her forehead. "Thanks, Bufkin."

No matter how much her head ached, she had work to do. And it would take far too much energy to reprimand Bufkin for drinking yet again on the job. Technically, he was working overtime anyway, and she didn't want to alienate one of her two late evening helpers.

The cardboard cover of the file felt old and brittle between her fingers as she lifted it. She was greeted by pages upon pages of the same neat script, slanting slightly to the right, not a single splotch of ink marring the writing.

It was lucky she wasn't a Mundy, or she probably would have long since developed some of their blood pressure problems. Every time she saw Crane's handwriting, another spike of grim, writhing anger went through her, so acute and hot that she almost thought she might accidentally rip out some pages of the file in her harsh grip.

On the other side of the Business Office, Bigby swore softly as one vial hopped out of the cupboard. It clanked to the ground and started to bounce away. At any other time, the sight would've been funny—the sheriff of Fabletown, the Big Bad Wolf himself, stumbling after a cheeky escaping glass, struggling not to trod on it with his heavy feet.

Snow turned another page and began to read.

It was no secret anymore that Crane had been pilfering money for himself whenever he could. But it was still shocking to realize just how much had gone into his private funds. So many times, Snow had been the one to turn away the Fables asking for help, the one who'd told them, with a small, apologetic smile, that there was simply no way the town could spare any of its meager funds to help support their families.

The headache pulsed again. Snow winced and drew her free hand across her forehead. It wasn't that she felt personally responsible for each and every Fable who had left the Office with a sinking heart. That would've been foolish and she knew it.

But the thought that she had been the one to shatter so many hopes, when Crane had sat imperiously behind his desk, not so much as glancing up, like a spider fattening itself on the unfortunate flies that got tangled in its web...

Snow exhaled slowly. Her fingers had left indents in the cardboard folder. She was not a violent person by nature. But the thought of how many people they could've helped, how many lives she could've improved with her neat signature, made her blood boil.

Over the top of the folder, she could see Bigby working by the cupboard. He looked dusty and irritable. The basket by his feet was shaking slightly as the jars and pots tried to get out.

Snow slapped the folder shut. She needed a break. Looking for further evidence of Crane's dealings was a dry, bureaucratic task, done for the sake of going by the book. It wasn't like any of these files could tell her where she was going to get the funding to start fixing what Crane had bled nearly dry.

Bigby gave her a brief twitch of a nod, the barest acknowledgement, as she stopped by his side. All his focus was on his hands. His big palms cradled a crystalline, fragile-looking glass. A thick blue liquid swirled within.

The glass seemed to be breathing. It pulsed gently in Bigby's hands. He settled it very carefully into the basket. Even some of the other jars seemed to sense its fragility, because they scuttled aside to make room for it.

"Find anything unusual?" Snow asked.

Bigby dusted his hands off on his trousers. "Lots of potions so far," he said. "I don't even recognize half of those but I'm sure the thirteenth floor will have a field day."

If he was tired, he didn't show it. Then again, ever since the murders had started Bigby had probably caught a total of four hours of sleep. By this point, the shadows around his eyes almost looked painted on. One late night of work probably didn't even register with him anymore.

It was true that Bigby was quite sturdy, hard to rattle and even harder to seriously injure. Even for him, the lack of sleep had to be taking its toll after the mad week they'd all had. But his offer to help her start to clear out the Office had been too welcome for Snow to decline politely.

Snow peered into the cupboard. A number of tall, slim vials were left on the top shelf. The corks were all but caked in dust, and Bigby dislodged a small cloud of it as he pulled a few off of the shelf.

Most of those bottles seemed content enough to let Bigby handle them. Snow reached in and took down a few of her own. She spotted some script on the faded labels of some, but others were blank. They held murky liquid and what seemed to be sparkling gas, and one appeared to be empty.

She just hoped the witches on the thirteenth floor could make something out of these. There was no telling what kind of stash Crane had been keeping. Once upon a time, Snow would've thought her fussy, pedantic boss incapable of stockpiling dangerous magical goods right under her nose. But by now, well, she wasn't so sure.

One of the jars did struggle in her palm. It twitched and rolled a little, almost out of her hand before Snow steadied it.

A swirling dark purple fog clung thickly to the walls of the glass as it was moved about. The label was half torn-off and faded, but Snow caught the familiar words and turned the glass into the light to decipher them.

 _'For B. Wolf',_ the label read, in Dr. Swineheart's neat handwriting.

Snow blinked. She took the glass by the cork so it couldn't fall and held it out to Bigby. "What's this?"

Bigby took the jar from her. The glass writhed and struggled in his grip, as though it sensed that it was being held by the one it'd been meant for.

"No idea," Bigby said, frowning. He sniffed at the cork, then reared back, grimacing slightly. "It smells like magic, kind of acrid. Old."

The vial bounced around in Bigby's fingers and seemed to try to twist itself out of his fingers. "Well, put it in there," Snow said, nodding to the basket. "The witches can—"

With a sudden shimmy and a leap, the jar sprang free.

It seemed to happen almost in slow motion. The little bottle turned end over end in the air, gleaming in the yellowish lamp light. Bigby made a grab for it, but missed, and it bounced off the back of his hand and fell in a gleaming arc.

Small shards of glass blew across the stone floor as it shattered. The vial burst with a noise far louder than such a small container should have made, and a thick, roiling cloud of purple smoke erupted.

Tipped forward as he'd been in his effort to catch the glass, Bigby stumbled right into it. He inhaled a lungful of the vapor. A huge billow of purple swallowed his form whole. 

Then Bigby stumbled back, out of the cloud, coughing, wiping at his face where the mist had dampened his cheeks, leaving faint purple streaks on the backs of his hands. The fog dispersed almost as quickly as it had billowed up. Pale lilac wisps drifted up to the high ceiling.

Snow didn't recall moving, but suddenly she was holding a handful of Bigby's shirt, pulling the fabric tight against his shoulder. This close, even her inferior nose picked up the smell of the powder—a light sting, like something spicy. 

"What the hell just happened?" she demanded, sharper than she'd meant to. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Bigby said, voice gravelly. He coughed again. He swayed slightly, and Snow's hand opened on its own accord, fastened itself around the warm, flexing muscle of his shoulder.

She doubted she could hold him up if he fell, but perhaps she could at least direct him not to land on his head. Bigby didn't seem to notice her touch. He shook his head lightly to clear it and glared down at the glittering shards of glass on the stone floor with a suspicious expression.

"I have no idea what that was," he said. "It smelled... weird."

Snow looked at the quickly dispersing wisps of fog that were blown across the stone floor. It had certainly looked strange enough. Perhaps it was fortunate that it had been him working on the cupboard. If Bigby was still upright, there was no telling what the vapor might have done to her or Bufkin.

Bigby seemed to have the same thought. He looked at Snow, a quick, urgent pass of his gaze that sent a strange shiver down her back. "You okay?" he asked. "You didn't breathe any of that in, did you?"

She shook her head. Belatedly, she realized she still had her hand on his shoulder, and dropped it back to her side. Bigby bent down—stumbling, crashing to one knee faster than he'd meant to—and began to pick up some of the larger shards.

"I don't feel different," he said, more to the glass than to Snow. "Whatever that was, it..."

He trailed off. A feathery flap of wings announced Bufkin's arrival—he was carrying a dust pan, ever thoughtful even when slightly inebriated.

Snow bit her lip and looked at him. Was it just her imagination, or was he still swaying slightly in place? "Maybe you should sit down," she blurted.

Bigby peered up at her. Suddenly, he seemed to be staring at the palm Snow had clasped around his shoulder just a moment ago. It was like the touch was only just catching up to him. 

Heat rushed to Snow's face. Flustered as she was, before she could stop herself, she'd hidden her hand behind her back.

"I'm already down," Bigby pointed out, a little puzzled. "I'm fine, Snow."

Of course, in the grand scheme of things, getting hit with a faceful of strange vapor was fairly low on the scale of dangerous situations Bigby had thrown himself into this past week. It was no wonder her sudden worrying caught him off-guard.

The smoke's strange charged stench hung in the air. Bigby reached up to accept the dustpan from a wavering Bufkin. With his sleeve, he wiped at his cheeks again, the fabric rasping audibly over his stubble.

Quite unnecessarily, Snow straightened the cuffs of her sleeves. "Keep looking through the cupboard," she instructed. She was relieved to hear that her voice sounded normal.

Bigby nodded, kneeling anew, eyes firmly on the task of sweeping up the broken glass. He wasn't tilting to the side quite so obviously anymore. It was only then that Snow noticed she still had her hand behind her back, and that the fingers had closed into a loose curl, as if her skin missed the sinewy warmth of Bigby's shoulder through his shirt.

Snow shook her head at herself. She was more tired than she'd thought. And she was being entirely ridiculous. A minor mishap, that was all it'd been, and there was no need to fuss anymore. The longer she hovered, the more she'd confuse Bigby with her hovering.

She went back to her desk. The file still sat where she'd dropped it. Her headache twinged a little in warning. Snow sighed and flipped back the cover again.

* * *

Snow woke to the distant noises of a crash.

She rolled over in her big, empty bed and groaned into her pillow. Oh, it was morning all right—she could hear the birds in the trees around the building. Light flowed into her bedroom through the drawn curtains, and the room was already heating up in the summer sun. The noise of traffic drifted in, the rush and roar of cars speeding past.

It was morning, but it didn't feel like it. She clutched her pillow close and rested her cheek against its downy softness. Maybe if she just lay still, she'd fall asleep again. She didn't feel well-rested at all. It was like she'd only closed her eyes for a short minute.

Somewhere in the building, something tipped over and fell. A splintering noise followed, then an ominous silence until a number of hard, dull thuds reverberated through the structure.

Squinting blearily into the light, Snow sat up. Whoever was making that racket would find themselves with a hefty fine by the end of the day, she decided. For disturbing the peace and waking the deputy mayor a full half-hour before her alarm would've gone off.

She was halfway through putting on her morning robe when she heard running feet. They passed by her apartment and rushed down the stairs.

With a long sigh, Snow gathered her hair into a loose bun. It seemed breakfast would have to wait.

The distant thumping sounds led her down the stairs. This early, the stairwell was still cool, not yet heated up by the relentless Manhattan summer. As she walked, Snow scrutinized the wooden steps. They were polished and clean. Grimble was doing that part of his job, at least.

It wasn't surprising, Snow reflected a moment later, that she had ended up in front of Bigby's door. It was where she would have gone anyway, to inquire whether he was aware that some rascals were making noise in her building.

As it seemed, the origin of the commotion was Bigby's apartment itself.

"What's going on?" Snow said for the second time, impatiently, to a somewhat stunned Beauty who stood amongst the small crowd that had gathered in front of the door.

The door shuddered under another impact. The numbers '204' shook too. Dust trickled down the wooden frame. From inside came a low, dull rumble that almost reverberated through the wall, and Snow already had a sneaking suspicion of what was going on inside.

"He doesn't even really fit in there," Beast said thoughtfully. "This is the smallest apartment in the Woodlands and look at the size of him."

Grimble blinked blearily at the door. He seemed to be waking up more with each second that passed. "I'm not sure," he said in response to Snow's inquiry. "It seems the sheriff has, um, changed his... shape."

A quick pitter-patter of clawed paws on wooden floor came from behind the door. The growl got louder, a wet, threatening snarl. Snow shivered. She did not want to know what would happen to the feeble wooden door if the wolf really filled its great lungs and roared.

"Is anybody going to _do_ something?" Beauty said. "Colin is in there with him!"

She looked distressed, but not as frightened as Snow would have thought she would. She was still wearing her nightgown too, under a fluffy morning robe much like Snow's. Still, she appeared to be mostly awake. Her hair was up in pink rollers, a few shining strands unraveled.

"He wouldn't have transformed without good reason," Beast said. "Something must've happened. Maybe someone broke in or something."

Beauty gave her husband an impatient look. "Okay, but _Colin—"_

Snow swallowed hard. Her heart began to beat faster, in belated reaction. Her still sleep-addled mind had taken a moment to catch up to the situation. Now, though, a sudden, sharp wave of anxiety rocked through her.

Bigby had transformed, into his— into the wolf, and now Colin was in acute danger. He shouldn't even have been in the building, let alone in Bigby's apartment. He was annoying and brash, a thorn in her side with how he always managed to avoid being sent back to the Farm. But she didn't want him to _die._

And whatever had happened—or was happening—in there, she did not want Bigby to wake up and realize he'd done something to his friend.

She turned to address Grimble. "Can you get in and out quickly without too much danger to yourself?"

The guard blinked slowly. Deep shadows were almost engraved around his eyes, the waterlines rimmed in red. He slept all day on the job, it simply escaped Snow's reasoning how he could still be so tired all the time.

"I— yeah..." Grimble patted thoughtfully at his hip, where he had a gun holstered.

The permeating rumble of the wolf's growl set Snow's teeth on edge. She shivered again, but stood up straighter, and resisted the urge to rub at her arms where she felt goosebumps breaking out under her morning robe.

"Try to get Colin out," she instructed, then looked at Beauty. "Can I use your phone?"

Beauty blinked, then nodded, clearly understanding that their apartment was closer than the Business Office. She asked, "The Woodsman?"

Snow bit her lip, but nodded. She did not like the thought of calling him in, from wherever it was he'd holed up to—she would try the Trip Trap first, if Holly was even up at this time of day... But the fact was that Bigby had transformed, was smashing his apartment to smithereens from the sounds of it, and they'd need someone to... to contain him, if it came to that, if he actually took it in his mind to break through the door and try to eat them all for breakfast. And the Woodsman was better than nothing.

As she hurried to Beauty and Beast's apartment, Snow strained her ears, listened to the ongoing commotion a floor below. She thought she heard a door open and close, and her heart beat frantically high in her throat.

But there were no terrified screams. Just the dull thud of something being knocked over, a shuffle of noise, then the door slammed shut a second time.

Snow had no time to look at the patterned wallpaper and the beautiful wooden furnishings of Beauty and Beast's living room. Expensive paintings didn't get a second glance from her—she only had eyes for the phone, plastic and shining, sitting on a chest of drawers. 

Snow yanked the receiver off its cradle and tried to remember the Trip Trap's number. The Woodsman would know what to do. She dialed quickly.

The phone beeped its signal into her ear. It was only when her toes sunk into the expensive carpet that she realized she'd forgotten to put on her slippers.

>

* * *

"If you could all back the fuck off," said the witch, "that'd be hugely appreciated. Go on, scram."

Yawning and obedient, Grimble ducked back out the door. Snow didn't move. She only folded her arms tighter across her chest.

At her side, Beauty wavered a bit. Snow didn't blame her. Witches were unsettling on the best of days. Beauty had been visibly fighting the urge to step away ever since they had opened the door.

The Woodsman just continued to glare. His eyes were bloodshot and only half open, and he seemed to be supporting himself with the handle of his ax propped against the floor.

It was somewhat easier, Snow supposed, looking at Bigby's other form for the first time when the wolf was asleep. The witch had blown a fine powder through the keyhole, and the wolf had dropped with a resounding thud. It meant Snow could stare all she wanted and did not have to control her features as she'd failed to do when Bloody Mary had cornered them.

And stare she did, so much that her eyes felt dry from it.

The wolf filled the room to the brim. The walls seemed to have shrunk closer, filled to bursting. The thick fur on the wolf's shoulders brushed the cheap ceiling lamp. The great head had come to rest close by Bigby's table. The rickety wooden structure was miraculously intact, though the armchair was a shattered heap.

The witch straightened up with a grunt of effort and dug her tattooed knuckles into her back. She pursed her lips. An impressive bubble of chewing gum appeared, growing and growing until it suddenly popped with a muted sound and she quickly sucked it back into her mouth.

She walked around one big front paw that could probably have crushed a man's ribcage. She crouched there for a moment and examined the furred toes, with their short but deadly claws that were mercifully limp for now.

Snow found her eyes drifting up again. They'd been doing that, helplessly, like the sheer dimensions of the wolf's size defied her imagination and required frequent reassessment. The wolf's hackles lay flat at this moment, unraised by aggression. 

Its fur was a warm gray color. Snow's mind stumbled over that—for some reason, she'd thought it'd be the same reddish chestnut shade as Bigby's hair.

The witch rose from her crouch. She actually put a hand on Bigby's huge shoulder to steady herself at the head rush.

"So I'm pretty sure it's an enchantment," she said. She blew another bubble of gum. Snow blinked: the gum wasn't light pink anymore, but a brilliant shade of green. "Hasn't been in effect long. It was something slow-working, not instantaneous. Most likely took all night to kick in."

The bubble popped. How it had remained intact as she'd spoken, Snow didn't know. The witch passed a hand across her forehead, like she had a headache.

"So when'll it wear off?" the Woodsman said from his place beside the door. He was fixing bloodshot eyes on the wolf, with a weary sort of resignation. He must've had very different plans for the day—sleeping off his hangover, for one.

The witch raised her eyebrows at him, then winced and rubbed at her temple with her knuckles. "Do I look like I'm fucking around here," she said, "or does it look like I'm doing my job? Either be patient or fuck off outside."

The wolf breathed slowly in sleep. Some of the powder had settled on its nose, and that same nose kept twitching a bit, like the fine substance itched. 

The witch moved one of the huge ears out of the way and felt around behind it. The ear twitched in response, too, a quick little flick of movement. Snow was struck by a sudden, incongruous curiosity whether the thinner, lighter fur around the ears was as soft as it looked.

She shook her head to dispel the thought. This was not the moment... and really, there was no appropriate moment ever, at all, for her to be asking herself that question. 

To the witch she said, with some wariness, "I didn't catch your name."

The witch grinned at her over her shoulder. The motion produced a small wince of pain from her headache. The gum that peeked out from between her teeth was purple now. "It'll be whatever you want it to be, darlin'."

Snow rolled her eyes. She ignored the slight heat that rose to her cheeks. Sometimes she forgot how eccentric the witches were, with the whole thirteenth floor drenched in magic. They could wield ancient powers, so Snow supposed they had a right to a bit of peculiarity. But she still didn't like interacting with them. She always felt as though they were laughing at her behind her back.

Next to her, perhaps emboldened by Snow's presence, Beauty spoke up. "You seem a bit young to be dealing with this."

The witch stared at them. Another bubble formed, grew and bulged, a sparkling blue. Shimmery fog briefly erupted around her shoulders. Snow caught a glimpse of a long, wart-covered nose, frizzy gray hair and shrewd wrinkled eyes.

Almost kindly, the witch said, "Have you ever heard of glamors?"

The bubble popped. Beauty subsided into red-faced silence. The witch scoffed and went back to her examination.

She prodded at the wolf in several more places. Snow's own gaze kept darting to its great head, nervously. Was it just her imagination or did she catch the wolf's eyes moving behind their lids, its weight shifting slowly in a sleepy rousing motion? The witch had blown only a small amount of powder through the keyhole, perhaps enough to put a human-sized Bigby to sleep for a day, but the wolf was so much bigger...

"An enchantment," the witch repeated, rubbing at her aching forehead with a wince. "God, I'm hungover."

The Woodsman seemed to relax. He looked at the witch with an a new-found feeling of kinship. Briefly, Snow turned her gaze up to the ceiling. It seemed that most of Fabletown had been out drinking last night. 

"It's about twelve hours old." The witch stuck her hands behind one large, fluffy ear again. This time the ear twitched much more, wiggled in an attempt to get away from the tickling fingers. "It's pretty strong but it's not working right."

Snow straightened her back. This part, she knew well enough. The witch would name her prize and it would be exorbitantly high, or something ridiculous and unattainable, like a glass of water from a well somewhere deep in the Homelands. And Snow would have to get into a lengthy argument with her on why the witch should just put her services on Fabletown's collective tab, since restoring the sheriff to his normal shape was certainly a service to the community.

Another bubble of gum appeared, a glowing black. Snow felt her eyebrow twitch a bit. She wondered if it'd be juvenile to demand the witch spit out that ridiculous thing.

The woman rubbed at her persistent migraine again. "It feels... stale," she said, searching for words. "There are expiration dates on these things for a reason. They become unpredictable. This one was meant to drive away the human part of him and lock him in this form," she patted the wolf's shoulder and didn't seem to notice the answering flinch, or the Woodsman's nervous shifting.

All thoughts of their dire finances fled. Distant shock rocked through Snow. It was like being doused in cold water.

 _Lock_ him in this form? Bigby was... Snow swallowed hard, looked at the wolf as it slept and breathed deeply and its ears twitched as it seemed to pick up on some of the conversation that was going on.

Bigby was— _this,_ forever? But... but that was impossible. Just last night, he'd still been himself. He'd helped her start to clear out the Office and he'd declined Bufkin's offer of wine and...

"—so the best thing to do is...," the witch said, and trailed off with a glare. "Are you even listening to me?"

Snow blinked. She forced a breath into her constricted chest. Her hearing had grayed out for a moment as the cold had shot through her.

"I _said,"_ the witch repeated, exasperated, "the goddamn thing isn't _working_ right, okay? It's expired, gone stale. It's gonna wear off. You just have to sit your pretty ass down and wait."

The breath felt stuck in Snow's lungs, thick and syrupy, impossible to swallow or choke up. "It's... it's going to wear off?"

An iridescent pink bubble of gum burst with a muted pop. With an expert flick of her tongue, the witch got the gum back. "Yeah."

Snow exhaled. She almost leaned back into the wall, but stopped herself just in time. No matter how watery her knees felt for a moment, there was no need to let the witch know. At her side, Beauty had stepped closer. She wasn't looking at Snow at all, and the set of her shoulders was tense and awkward, like she was waiting to be told to back off. 

Unexpected though it was, Snow appreciated the silent support. She had never talked to Beauty much. It had struck her as a bit strange that Beauty had placed herself by her side and refused to budge even under the witch's disapproving looks. Perhaps Snow had been underestimating her.

"So," the witch said. She pressed her palm briefly to her forehead to contain the ache there. "Let's talk confinement."

* * *

From his perch atop the broken pile of Bigby's armchair, Colin said, "I really hope that's not pork."

Snow rolled her eyes. Behind her, Grimble swayed slightly under the weight of the huge parcel of raw meat they'd gotten from Johann's butcher shop. They'd have to move on soon if she wanted Grimble not to collapse.

But she had wanted to look in on Colin first. "Do you need anything?" she asked. She eyed the bandages that circled Colin's left hind leg. It was the only place where the wolf's teeth had actually grazed him.

Even though Colin had been woken up by Bigby's involuntary transformation, he had been instinctively fast and nimble. He had managed to evade the wolf, cramming himself into small spaces in Bigby's apartment, acquiring bumps and bruises but only that shallow bite wound from the wolf's teeth.

"A strong drink," Colin said. He shrugged a bit, as much as he could in his shape. Mottled bruising littered his side. "Other than that..."

Snow sighed. Colin was... not reacting like she'd thought he would. Perhaps it was just prolonged shock, but he looked too grumpy for that. He wasn't yelling. He was almost agreeable.

She had expected Colin to raise hell. He should've been demanding to be sent back to the Farm if only it'd get him away from Bigby. Instead, he had stayed strangely calm about the whole matter. He hadn't even made a move to hide his continued presence from Snow, though he must've known that every time she saw him, deportation forms swam in front of her mind's eye.

"Well, alright," she said shortly. "I hope you feel better."

Colin just grunted and kept his eyes on the TV. It had miraculously survived Bigby's transformation with only a few scratches along the sides. It still worked. Colin had it tuned to something colorful, though the sound was muted.

On the thirteenth floor, the witch sat right where they had left her. She had an ice pack on her head, but other than that looked no different. She was reading some thick, leather-bound tome with strange runes scrawled across the pages. It looked strange in her hands with the painted nails and the multicolored bubbles she was still blowing, even as her eyes moved rapidly as she read, absorbed.

She looked up when they approached. The ice pack stayed strangely affixed to her head. She smiled at Snow.

"Hey there, beautiful," she said. The front legs of her chair crashed back to the ground where she'd been balancing on the back like a bored school girl. "Two tickets to the Big Bad Wolf?"

"One!" Grimble gasped, from behind his heavy burden. He finally half-collapsed, set the massive plastic bag down with a thump. Snow glared at him, then at the bag, but she saw only the smooth white plastic of Johann's expert packaging—no blood leaked out anywhere, so the butcher had wrapped it well.

"Only one," Grimble repeated, out of breath. His sweaty face paled even at the sight of the wooden door that the witch was guarding. The dark circles under his eyes stood out vividly. "I'm not... getting paid... enough for this shit."

Snow blew out an exasperated breath. Briefly, she thought about offering Grimble a raise just to force him to come with her.

Fabletown funds were not the best, though, with Bluebeard still incandescent over Crane's misappropriation of his money. So Snow just leveled Grimble with a disapproving look. He walked away at speed as though he feared she would call him back.

The witch laid her hand on top of the plastic. She didn't say anything, and there was no tell-tale shimmer of magic this time, but her fingers flexed a little. When Snow tried to move the package, it weighed no more than her moderately sized purses.

"Thanks," Snow said to the witch, because eccentric and somewhat rude or not, that was appreciated. Snow was a Fable, and as such, hardier than Mundies, but she doubted she could've hauled the bag much farther than the door.

"Have fun," the witch said in response. A brilliant yellow bubble of gum popped with a soft noise in front of her face. "Don't get eaten."

Snow rolled her eyes. She pushed the door open and went inside.

The crackle of magic rolled over her like a sudden tangible breeze. For a second she heard nothing but the snap of the door closing behind her. In front of her eyes was a blur of unexpected color. She blinked and looked around.

Snow had been around witchcraft for centuries. The magic mirror's merciless honesty had nearly brought about her death at the hands of her stepmother. Snow had learned to fear and respect magic in equal measures. But there was a part of her, a small and childlike one, that stood wide-eyed and gaping in front of the display.

They were still in the Woodlands building. But Snow seemed to have stepped into the middle of a shady and ancient forest.

Blue skies stretched overhead. A breeze blew through her hair. She smelled crushed grass and decaying leaves, fresh summer air that was a good deal less hot and stuffy and more pleasant to inhale than Manhattan's greyish fumes.

Thick, tall grown trees stood all around her. Their leaves cast speckled light and shadow onto the grass. There was no path. Snow grimaced as her ankle bent painfully in her high heeled shoes.

The Woodsman sat on a fallen tree trunk overgrown with moss and grass. A small clearing had opened up around him, allowing him a clear view of the trees and rustling undergrowth. 

For a moment, Snow couldn't help but stare. The Woodsman seemed to be holding his ax to his face, putting the cold metal of the flat of the blade to his aching forehead.

He looked up at Snow's approach and cringed visibly. The trees were massive, ancient long-grown oaks and beeches, and they cast a gentle sunlit-stippled shade across the grass. But it seemed even that was too much for his hangover.

"Didn't think you'd come personally," he said to her. Even his voice sounded like sandpaper, and she wouldn't have been surprised if the low rumble had made him wince at his own volume.

Snow put the bag down. It landed with a thud that was more appropriate to its size than the slight weight she had been feeling. "Grimble chickened out."

The Woodsman blinked slowly at her. It seemed to take her words a moment to sink in. "You're not scared?"

A small flame of irritation kindled in her. Snow welcomed it—it was a welcome change from the bewildering rush of the morning. People forgot, because her tale was one of helplessness, that she was a Fable too. It took more than the Big Bad Wolf making an appearance in her tidy and organized apartment building to frighten her.

It was not that she was _scared._ She was nervous, that was all. There was still a distant, disquieted part of her that wondered how she'd handle it if the enchantment took a long while to wear off, a part that radiated a strange guilt. She was not supposed to be nervous. She was the deputy mayor. And it didn't make sense, because she doubted Bigby cared right now that her heart beat a little faster than normal.

She wondered, suddenly, what he would do if he found out, upon transforming back, that Snow had been in the room with his wolf. A magically enlarged room, to be sure, but in the vicinity nonetheless.

Snow pushed the thought away. She could think about that later, and she would not respond to the Woodsman's goading. "I've brought meat," she said, nodding to the bag.

The Woodsman eyed the neatly wrapped package. "I'd've thought you'd be out there with Grimble," he said, "behind that door, wetting your silk knickers."

Snow pressed her lips together. The Woodsman was an uncultured drunkard and he would not make her rise to his bait. She was the deputy mayor and she had better things to do than squabble with him.

"Thought you'd _tamed_ him, didya?" The Woodsman narrowed his bloodshot eyes at her. A lopsided smile appeared through his thick beard, almost mocking. "And now look where we fucking are. You standin' there in your fancy clothes and with those heels, come to feed your—"

"I hardly see how my attire is relevant," Snow snapped. "And you can save your philosophical commentary."

Before, she had never really noticed the dog jokes. But lately she'd been spending enough time with Bigby that she'd learned to recognize the warning signs when someone was about to call him a lapdog. She had no desire to hear that word today.

She drew herself up to her full height. Her heels sunk a little bit into the grass. She pointed imperiously at the package. "Will you take that to him or not?"

"'Course I will," the Woodsman said. "Ain't nobody but me here in this cursed town who can deal with him after all."

He underwent the laborious task of levering himself up to a standing position. He braced his weight heavily on his ax, and leaned so far over that Snow saw a healing wound on the bald back of his head.

Snow folded her arms and watched him pick up the meat. She saw, with a certain amount of satisfaction, that he did a double-take at the weight and had to bend down to heave it under his arm. So the witch's spell to lighten the parcel had worked only on her.

The Woodsman strode away through the clearing. His boots left imprints in the soft grass. A few birds circled overhead, a component of this small magical forest hidden behind the unassuming wooden door.

When she was sure he was out of earshot behind the thick trees, she sighed. As much as she hated to admit it, the Woodsman had been right at least about that. There was no one in Fabletown who was even remotely up to this task except for him.

The Woodsman's words were close to the thoughts she'd had herself, but she found herself bristling anyway. Snow glared at the trees. The Woodsman was severely overestimating his own importance—they certainly did not _need_ him. Or at least they shouldn't have, even for this.

For a minute, Snow just stood there and waited. She inhaled in the fresh, moss-scented air, felt the sunlight heat her black hair. Her heels sank gently into the grass. At last, the undergrowth up ahead rustled with movement. The Woodsman was coming back.

"Finally," Snow called across the clearing. "Took you long en—"

From behind a massive tree trunk overgrown with moss, the wolf stepped out.

It didn't look quite as huge as it had in Bigby's apartment. Perhaps it was just the proportions—here, the wolf was surrounded by ancient, tall trees, not Bigby's flimsy human furnishings.

That was her first thought, followed closely by something fierce and bright, a thrill that went down to her bones and was not unlike fear. Air got stuck in her lungs, halfway through an exasperated exhale at the Woodsman's dilly-dallying. Her heart pounded once, twice, then started to race.

The wolf didn't even seem to notice her for a moment. It looked around, stalked slowly closer, its hackles rising just a bit. 

The whiff of meat must've lingered in the air. The wolf looked back over its huge shoulder at the treeline, ears going forward with curiosity. Maybe it would follow the Woodsman to get at the food, Snow thought suddenly, please, please let it follow...

But the wolf turned back, and this time it did see her.

In the sunlight, it was harder to tell. But Snow thought that if there'd been darkness, those golden eyes might have been glowing. They had found her, and now appraised her, a predator sizing up its prey.

The huge paws moved near-silently across the grass. The wolf placed them gently, wary of startling her into running. 

Even if there'd been anything but static noise in Snow's head, there was no chance she would've run. Her knees seemed to be about to dissolve, her body held up by nothing but her locked joints and her trembling bones.

The wolf's lips pulled back. It crouched a little, its ears going back, and sprang.

Terror seized hold of Snow. It started in her chest and shot through her limbs like an electric current. The massive furred beast lunging at her eclipsed the rest of the clearing. There was a moment when she thought she'd faint, with the ground tilting under her feet. Then, with a breathless cry, Snow stumbled and fell.

She barely even felt the breath getting knocked out of her. Gasping, icy sweat breaking out all across her body, it was all she could do to scramble backwards across the fragrant grass— 

And the wolf went past her, dragging behind itself a rush of air, and threw its huge body at the door.

For several long seconds, Snow lost her hold on time. It slipped away like water sliding out of cupped hands. She didn't move. Sunlight slanted into her eyes. Far up in the sky, she could still see the birds circling, placid, untouched by what transpired below.

From behind her came the heavy thudding noises of the wolf throwing its great weight against the door. It growled continuously, more an aggravated sort of noise than a full-throated roar. The noise rumbled through the ground and up Snow's arms where she was shakily bracing herself.

She hardly noticed at all when the Woodsman came running, breaking forth from the treeline with twigs caught in his beard and a streak of blood down his thigh from the meat, brandishing his ax and swearing a blue streak.

She didn't really feel the second rush of air, much smaller, as the Woodsman ran past her. She did hear the dull impact of his ax.

Finally, Snow scrambled to her feet. Her limbs shook, a fine tremor. Grass juice had smeared across her palms and skirt. She looked over her shoulder.

The ax flashed brilliantly in the sun, a moving whirl of metal. The Woodsman had somehow gotten very close, and was executing careful slashes at the massive forelegs, his blade well clear of cutting actual flesh. 

The wolf let out an irritated half-growl, half-barking noise. The huge jaws snapped at the Woodsman. Unimpressed, the Woodsman just wedged himself more firmly between Bigby and the door, and drove him back.

Snow gave them a wide berth, jogging past on shaking legs and grass-stained heels. No blood flowed, at least as far as she could see. The wolf seemed more irritated than truly enraged—or, gods forbid, hungry. A few times, the Woodsman got hit heavily by a huge paw, but the gleaming teeth only ever rent the sleeve of his shirt.

The Woodsman was faster than Snow had thought he'd be, with his hangover. He hit the wolf mostly with the flat of his ax, drove the blunt handle into Bigby's shoulder, more intent on driving him away than truly hurting him.

And even with Bigby's human half locked so far away, the wolf seemed to recognize the Woodsman as someone he might not particularly like, but no actual adversary. Growling, he went where the Woodsman pushed him, eyes flashing angrily and with some confusion as he was driven back from the exit.

Up ahead, for the first time, Snow saw the door. A high, slightly chipped wall denoted the place where the magical realm gave way to the Woodlands' thirteenth floor. Amidst the dusty bricks, the door looked very small.

The Woodsman looked back only once. He had just levered the wolf off him, with a mighty shove of his broad shoulders, and the wolf was climbing back to its feet, baring all of its teeth.

"Go!" he shouted at Snow, when he saw her standing uselessly by the door. 

The wolf flinched further away from the sweep of his ax. The Woodsman took a paw to the chest for that, but only went down on one knee, skidded across the grass and slammed the handle of the ax into Bigby's shoulder again.

When Snow got out of the room, a moment later, Beauty was waiting for her.

Dazed, Snow looked around. Blood pounded in her ears, a rushing thrum that seemed very loud in the silent hallway. The sun still slanted into the windows at the same angle. It couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes since she'd gone in.

The witch didn't even look up. She was still reading, hunched over her book. Fresh condensation beaded on her ice pack.

Then Beauty was right in front of Snow. Her eyes were wide, worried. One hand had half-reached out, then fell back to her side, like she'd wanted to touch her arm but had faltered at the last moment.

But she did peer intently into Snow's face. "Oh my God," she blurted, at whatever she saw there, "are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Snow said, puzzled. The words didn't sound like they'd come from her own mouth. They seemed echoing and far away.

Behind her, the door looked normal and unassuming. The wallpaper peeled slightly away around its wooden frame. There were no cracks in the plaster, no dust trickling from the ceiling. 

No noise filtered through the wall. Snow stared at the gleaming metal of the door handle. Perhaps the room's magic trapped the racket inside, and kept the door sturdy even as Bigby had thrown his huge furred form at it. Or maybe it was just quiet now because the Woodsman had subdued the wolf... unless the wolf was by now feasting on his ripped-off limbs. 

Snow shivered. No, she could not think like that. The wolf wouldn't have done that. He had— he hadn't even really lunged at _her_ , had he? He'd just wanted to get out of the room, and he could've bitten the Woodsman's head off in a heartbeat but he had held back...

The whole scene seemed to race past in front of her mind's eye a second time. The brilliant flash of the Woodsman's ax as he'd swung it at Bigby, its whistle through the air, the fangs-baring snarl of the wolf... It was like a recording played back, as if her senses had stored it and were only just now feeding it into her conscious mind again.

And Beauty was talking, Snow realized, a distinct murmur of noise in her ears, beyond the hard thumps of her slowing heart. She blinked again, and her words faded back in just as Beauty said, worried, "—hear me? Ms. White?"

Snow gave her thoughts a firm mental yank. She imagined she was straightening out a messy bed after a night of restless sleep. _Focus,_ she scolded herself, and tried on an apologetic smile. "Sorry," she said. "Call me Snow, please. You were saying?"

A thin frown line appeared between Beauty's neatly plucked eyebrows. Snow couldn't tell if she was offended that she had to repeat herself. "I was going to ask if you want to have lunch with me."

"Yes," Snow said, before she could second-guess herself. "Yes, that'd be..."

Then her thoughts caught up. They were heavy and slow, each one unfurling itself with a great effort: She had no idea how much time had passed, but it was probably only late morning. Outside the windows, trees swayed in a gentle breeze. It wasn't time for lunch yet.

Unsettled Snow closed her mouth. The words had just tumbled out. She hadn't meant to agree that quickly. 

On the ground floor, the Business Office stood empty except for Bufkin. A number of Fables must've already been waiting there, grumbling at the utter lack of movement in the queue they'd formed. Snow had work to do. She had files to read, missives to send to Bluebeard with tersely worded requests to extend his dwindling generosity to the citizens of Fabletown once more...

A few minutes later, with no clear recollection how that had happened, she found herself sitting on the plush embroidered couch in Beauty and Beast's spacious living room.

She had gone to her apartment to change into a fresh skirt and wash the grass stains off her palms. Beauty had been waiting for her by the elevator. And now Snow was inexplicably here, holding a generously big cup of lukewarm chocolate milk that Beauty had made herself, to Snow's surprise, because she hadn't known she could cook at all.

More than that, the chocolate was _good_. Beauty had spiced it with a bit of cinnamon, and heated the pot so slowly that the chocolate had had enough time to dissolve. A dollop of whipped cream on top was melting into the milk. 

Beauty sat cross-legged in an armchair, having kicked off her shoes, an oddly casual pose. Her gaze was alert, questioning, though Snow didn't know what the inquisitive look meant. She said, "How do you feel now?"

"I'm fine," Snow said, mildly confused. "It's been an... eventful morning."

Beauty nodded quickly. She seemed eager to keep Snow talking. The small, worried frown was still nestled between her eyebrows, like she expected Snow to keel over and spill hot chocolate across her expensive couch cushions. 

"You can say that again," Beauty replied. "Bigby woke me up with all the noise, I thought the witches were staging a revolt or something."

Snow licked whipped cream off her lips. The chocolate settled warm and welcome in her empty stomach. When she had first stepped out of that door, grass skid marks on her skirt, she never would've thought that a few minutes later she'd be sitting here placidly and sipping this warming, sugary beverage.

"He woke me up too," she confessed. It seemed alright to share this tidbit—she had seen Beauty's hair up in messy pink rollers, and Beauty had seen her in her morning robe. They were even.

Beauty stirred some more cinnamon into her own cup. Snow watched the whipped cream dissolve slowly in hers. She said, thoughtfully, "I just don't know who would do something like this."

She couldn't think of any reason why anyone would pull a stunt like this. Perhaps they'd hoped the wolf would tear down the Woodlands building. What other use could it have been, forcing Bigby to transform at night, in his tiny apartment? 

If anyone had the power to shove Bigby's human half so far into the distance and pull the wolf to the surface... Snow stared at the whipped cream in her cup. It dissolved slowly into the chocolate. She would've guessed they'd do it in the middle of some Mundies, in a park or a mall, for maximum casualties.

Comprehension lit up Beauty's eyes, and she fumbled the little spoon. It clattered against the rim of her cup. She stared at Snow in sudden excitement. "Oh, but what if—," she blurted out, "what if that witch hexed him when she was drunk last night?"

Snow raised her eyebrows. That was just about the last thing she would've thought of. "That seems a bit far-fetched," she said. The witch had seemed so disgruntled at their emergency—it was hard to imagine that she could've brought more unwelcome work on herself.

Beauty deflated visibly. She'd been excited to play detective. Snow sighed—perhaps her words had come out somewhat harsher than she'd meant to. "But really, your guess is as good as mine," she added, to soften the unintended blow. 

"Okay," Beauty said. She unfolded her legs. Her toenails were painted red, Snow noticed as they sunk into the carpet. "You both worked overtime last night, right?"

The spoon was put on the table with a decisive clank. Beauty seemed to mean business. Her pretty face was serious, her brows slightly drawn together. The excitement was still there, but banked now.

"When you were done at the Office," Beauty said, "did you see anyone following him?"

Snow thought back to the night before. No, she hadn't noticed anyone following Bigby. But that was mostly because she never got the chance to see Bigby walk down the second floor hallway to his apartment. 

He always rode the elevator up with her, and pretended not to watch her until she was safely in her apartment. But every time, it was only after she'd shut and locked her door that she heard the muffled chime of the elevator doors sliding closed.

Snow sipped on her cup of chocolate, then licked whipped cream off her lips. She had never really thought about that before. She'd just accepted it, unquestioning. Now, she thought that it was an oddly... chivalrous thing to do, seeing Snow safe to her apartment before Bigby went home himself.

Last night... She swirled the cup around. The creamy chocolate moved with it. She'd had such a headache. But she had refused to take a break. Bufkin had been mildly intoxicated...

They had been working. Snow had been struggling to control the flash-bang rage and discomfort that even seeing Crane's handwriting ignited in her. Bigby had been going through that dusty cupboard—

That was when it clicked. Snow stared at Beauty, momentarily struck silent by her own realization, and blurted, "The glass!"

Beauty leaned forward in her armchair. "What?"

"We were going through Cr— through the Office," Snow said quickly, leaning forward, "tidying up, you know..." 

And she told Beauty about the glass that had been labeled _'For B. Wolf,'_ in Dr. Swineheart's handwriting. How it had squirmed more than the other jars, and at last jumped out of Bigby's grip and shattered on the floor, releasing that thick cloud of purple smoke.

"That's it!" Beauty exclaimed. She jostled her cup in her excitement, but didn't seem to notice that a bit of chocolate milk trickled across the arm of her chair. "That must've been the enchantment! And the witch said it was stale, right? And the jar was all dusty?"

"Yeah." Snow drained the last of her milk in a rush. "It must've been in that cupboard for a long time."

The smoke had made Bigby stumble, there in the Office. He had gotten a faceful of the gas, and the way he'd staggered had stuck with Snow, somehow more unsettling than the jar's long leap out of Bigby's palm. Even when Bloody Mary had shot him, he'd been up and walking barely an hour later.

Snow bit her lip. Her stomach clenched a little around the chocolate. Her cup was empty, save for a little bit of whipped cream still stuck to the ceramic. 

She should've paid more attention. What had she been thinking, just going back to her damned paperwork instead of making him sit down? She should've ordered Bigby up to the thirteenth floor to get checked out.

Snow shook herself—this was not the time for misplaced guilt. How had she been supposed to know what the smoke would do to him? The damage was done anyway. Now, the best thing she could do for the sheriff was to get to the bottom of this.

"Who would do that?" Snow said slowly. She held Beauty's inquisitive gaze across the table. "Who would commission Dr. Swineheart to make a potion that..."

... trapped Bigby as the wolf, she'd meant to say. But somehow her voice trailed off. Abruptly, she leaned forward and put her cup on the table. It clanked perhaps a bit more than it should've. 

The witch had _said_ the enchantment would wear off. She had already decided that this was not the time for misplaced guilt. Nor was it the time for working herself into a fright over what might have been.

"We can ask him," Beauty said, cutting off her thoughts. "He'll be over later to check on Colin again."

Her cheeks had gained a bit of healthy color, a glow of excitement. It was a bit odd to see—a mere few hours ago, they had both stood in the wreckage of Bigby's apartment, while Colin bled from that wound in his thigh.

But maybe it was much simpler than a morbid fascination with the problem at hand. Perhaps Beauty was just glad to be included, to be able to do something after such a long time of keeping her head down under the Crooked Man's yoke.

"We'll get to the bottom of this," Beauty said. "We'll get Bigby back in no time at all."

Her pretty, heart-shaped face was earnest and only a little uncertain, like she expected Snow to scoff at her reassurances. It didn't banish that part of Snow that was quietly harvesting guilt at the back of her mind. But she smiled back anyway, warmed by the unexpected support.

* * *

"You should meet him. _Ow."_

Snow sighed. "If I want your opinion, Colin, I'll ask for it."

Dr. Swineheart did not exactly swat at his squirming patient. But he looked as aggravated as Snow had ever seen him. "Do hold still," he snapped, and continued dabbing some sharp-smelling ointment onto Colin's leg.

"Not that one," said Beauty from where she stood by the table. The pages of her furniture catalog rustled ominously. "It'll clash with the wallpaper. We've got to measure this again."

"So did the old armchair," Beast said, but went dutifully where Beauty pointed him. He stretched the tape against the wall again, bridging the distance between the windowsill and the corner.

The twinge in Snow's skull was back. It burrowed slowly into a sensitive spot on her forehead just above her left eye. It wasn't the same headache she'd had a night ago when she'd been going through the Office with Bigby, but it was annoying nevertheless.

There was too much going on at once. Her thoughts felt like a fraying carpet, unraveling a bit more with each careless, booted step that trod across the fabric. 

Downstairs, the Business Office stood empty. Beauty had decided she was going to order a new armchair for Bigby—without consulting him about his price range, of course. Colin was sprawled on the carpet, dispensing needling commentary whenever he saw fit. And Dr. Swineheart was working on his leg, dabbing fresh ointment into the wound.

She rubbed her fingertips over the painful spot in her forehead. It didn't help much. This wasn't the time to wish herself back into Beauty's quiet living room, or better yet, her own, still unmade bed. She had work to do. It was Dr. Swineheart whom she'd come to see, and everything else could wait for just a moment.

 _"Why_ did you ever think," she very nearly snapped, for the second time, "it'd be a good idea to make an enchantment that—"

"Crane commissioned it," Swineheart said, also for the second time. He didn't even look up at her as he spoke. "I told you, it was ages ago. I had nearly forgotten about it." 

He seemed to sense Snow's silent glare. He gave her a short, exasperated glance. "What do you expect me to say, Ms. White?" he asked. "That I turned him down out of the steadfast morality of my heart? Crane paid me very well. So I put it together."

His nimble fingers never stopped palpating the bruised skin around the gash in Colin's leg, checking for any heat of infection. Snow got the distinct impression that he was not taking her seriously.

She blew out her breath in an annoyed sigh. Swineheart should have said no. He should've thrown Crane's money back in his face and told him to go find a black market witch because Swineheart would not sully his respectable business for him.

It was what Snow would've done. But if the past week had taught her anything, it was that that did not count for much. She wouldn't sacrifice any more of her dignity by getting on Swineheart's case for his lack of ethics.

From his sprawl on the floor, Colin gave her a shrewd look. "Changed your perspective a bit, eh, seeing Bigby like that?" he said, picking up right where he had left off. "You still think he can just put the monster in him down and play house?"

A spike of pain went through Snow's forehead as her jaw clenched. She kept her gaze on Swineheart, told herself to focus and not rise to the bait. In what she felt was a calm and measured voice, she asked, "What exactly was it for?"

"To turn Bigby permanently into the wolf," Swineheart said. He was carefully taping a patch of gauze over Colin's wound. "Lock away his speech and reasoning, draw the beast to the surface. A last resort, I believe, if Bigby ever started to... disobey."

Of course. Snow sighed. The pain above her eye flared a bit, spread outwards. That scheme just reeked of Crane's machinations. He'd held in his wrinkled hands the means to get Bigby out of the way, if need be—dangerous and volatile, incapable of explaining anything, least of all that he couldn't change back. 

It would have been a neat way to get Bigby removed from the equation, because surely all of Fabletown would've agreed that they couldn't let a huge, feral wolf roam their streets.

"Because he can't," Colin said bluntly, into the silence. "He can't just stash it away. What he can do is control it, at least when he hasn't been forced to change by some enchantment."

With how fuzzy her head felt, it took Snow a moment to refocus. For a second she just stared at Colin. Then she remembered what he'd said to her before, and she scowled and opened her mouth.

But Colin was faster than she could muster up something to say. "If he'd truly wanted to, he'd have ripped me limb from limb," he said, impatient now. He jostled his leg a bit in emphasis. Dr. Swineheart clicked his tongue in disapproval. "You people don't understand, it's all black and white for you—"

By the window, Beauty and Beast had been conferring over the catalog. But now, Beauty was looking over at them with a mild frown. Their gazes caught and held. Beauty raised her eyebrows a little. Snow got the strange impression that Beauty would've jumped to her aid if Snow had wanted to be protected from Colin's sharp tongue.

It was ridiculous to feel as though she was being stared down by a pig. And yet Colin's eyes hard and unyielding with something close to contempt. Snow felt her weight shift and stopped herself just short of taking a step back.

"You're so concerned with fitting in that you forget you came from fairytales too," Colin snapped. Even Swineheart was glancing warily between them now. "Just because some of you happen to be princesses, or shaped like Mundies, doesn't make you better than us."

"I never said—," Snow began, baffled.

But Colin cut her off. "Well, you're _implying_ it," he snarled. "You think I've forgotten what you said to him that night when Bloody Mary took Crane?"

His hooves scraped across the battered carpet. It took him a moment, but he managed to climb up to his full height. Swineheart muttered something uncomplimentary as he was forced to stop wiping down Colin's bruised thigh.

Colin had to tilt his head back to meet her eyes. A roll of fat bulged at his bristly neck. But Snow still felt frozen in place, struck momentarily speechless.

"Because I haven't," he said, quieter now, but no less vehement. "Before long, you'll try to make him cleave himself in two and it's not gonna work."

"And that's quite enough from you," Dr. Swineheart interrupted at last, a clear warning. He hadn't risen to his feet, but he was scowling at the way Colin favored his leg. "Quit elevating your blood pressure."

"This is ridiculous!" Snow said. Finally, anger came to her aid, and with it came a prickling, embarrassed rush of frustration. She felt Beauty's eyes on her like a physical weight. They had all heard Colin, and Snow had been standing there and doing nothing to defend herself. "When have I ever—"

"You can't cram Bigby into one of your neat little drawers," Colin said loudly, talking over her. "And you'd better stop trying and get used to it, because if it gives you a turn every time we need the wolf around here, we're gonna have a real goddamn problem."

Bigby's battered living room was quiet, save for the faint noises of Beast flipping awkwardly through the furniture catalog. Beauty had taken a step closer to them, but looked undecided, her gaze flickering between Colin and Snow.

"Stop telling me how to handle Bigby," Snow blurted out. 

She'd meant to snap, she really had, but the words came out hasty, harried. Swineheart's interjection might have roused Snow enough to defend herself, but that didn't mean she knew at all what to say. 

The words seemed to echo in her head. It was almost as though Colin had shouted at her. And nothing of what he'd said made sense.

Neat little drawers? Cleave Bigby in two? Her thoughts spun slowly, in time with her pulsing headache. What in the world had Colin just accused her of? There would be no _cleaving_ of anyone, or anything. And the past week certainly hadn't been black and white, more a muddy gray that they'd waded through.

But there'd been something about Fables and princesses. Snow glared down at Colin. "It's you who's forgetting his place," she declared. This time her voice was steadier. "You shouldn't even be here right now, so don't you dare tell me what to do."

 _You don't know what it's like,_ she wanted to snap at him, _barely keeping this town from running itself into the ground when half the population seems determined to kill each other—_

That would be— no. She couldn't just say that. She would not stand here and defend herself to a pig who was a glamorless criminal and a freeloader to boot, and she would not let Colin back her into a corner with his strange accusations.

She looked at Dr. Swineheart. "We're not finished here," she told him, then strode out of the room.

She heard Colin scoff behind her. Through the angry rush of blood in her ears, she thought she heard Beauty call her name. She didn't look back.

* * *

It was only when the elevator slid open to reveal the wide, neatly swept hallways of the thirteenth floor that Snow realized where she'd been going.

Right away after Snow stepped out, the elevator descended back down. Somebody else must've been in a hurry. She stared down the corridor, taking in the drab ornamental rugs that had been laid out to cover scorch marks on the floor. A few somewhat otherworldly houseplants lined the corridor in chipped ceramic pots.

Murmurs of voices echoed faintly through the many doors, the ambient noise of a number of witches at work. A few of them sounded fairly close and familiar; perhaps the hungover witch was around somewhere. Blue smoke came out from under a door. It even spilled out of the keyhole. But there were no alarmed shouts to be heard, so it couldn't have been anything too dangerous.

She took only a few steps into the hallway. Next to a tousled fern with some interesting extra growths, she leaned her aching head against the wall.

What had just happened?

Snow sighed, aggravated, and finally rubbed at her eye again. What she did know was that she hadn't handled that well. 

She'd only been there to talk to Swineheart. She should've cut Colin off as soon as he'd started spouting cryptic nonsense about fitting in. Fitting in with who, the Mundies? Snow glared at the wall. It was called hiding in plain sight, and of course the subtleties would go right over Colin's dense head, as he spent his days prancing around without a glamor...

And she'd just stood there and let Colin snap at her like that, in some bizarre attempt to defend the sheriff. She'd been struck silent by his unexpected vehemence. It had taken Swineheart's brief intervention to even coax out her irritation—a weak moment unbefitting of anyone, let alone the deputy mayor talking to a pig.

And Colin had brought up that night when Bloody Mary had taken Crane, making it sound like she'd offended Bigby down to his very bones.

What _had_ she said to the sheriff that night? Snow rolled her knuckles across her forehead. The headache flared, but then loosened a little as the quietude of the thirteenth floor did its work. 

Snow recalled how shell-shocked she'd been. Her ears had still rung from the gunshots. A sick feeling had burrowed into her stomach with every second that passed with Bigby's blood all over her blazer. She remembered her own realization that they had to keep the moral high ground, they simply _had_ to, or the whole community would descend into chaos...

All she'd told Bigby was to do things by the book, and if Colin thought there was something wrong with that, that was his problem... and it hadn't given her a _turn_ that Bigby had transformed now... 'cleave himself in two,' really, it was likely that Colin himself hadn't even really understood what he'd said...

The elevator chimed again. The doors slipped open and Beauty darted out, flickered a glance around the corridor and sighed in obvious relief when she caught sight of Snow.

"Here you are," she said in a rush. Suddenly she was right there, peering at the knuckles Snow still had pressed to her brow. "Are you okay?"

The fern's appendages stretched curiously, wary of the newcomer. Snow cleared her throat, dropped her hand—there was no need to complain about her headache. "Of course, I'm fine," she said.

It was fairly clear that Beauty didn't believe her. She bit her lip, and her teeth left little indents in her carefully applied lipstick. For a moment Snow had the strangest feeling that she was about to get invited down to Beauty and Beast's apartment for another hot chocolate.

"Listen, Colin's just...," Beauty began, then paused, searching for words. "I think he's just cranky because his leg hurts. He didn't mean..."

Snow sighed. Oh, he absolutely _had_ meant every word he'd said, and they both knew it. And to think she'd actually felt worried about Colin before, when he'd been stuck in there with the wolf.

It was hard to hold Beauty's concerned gaze. Maybe she really was only seconds away from gently herding Snow into her luxurious living room again. It was a tempting thought—the quietude, Beauty's tasteful furnishings, the distant rush of traffic, another warm cup between her palms.

But Snow should've gone downstairs long ago. It was high time she did something about the waiting Fables. She was the deputy mayor, and she was hiding on the witches' floor like a child after a tantrum. She had to call Bluebeard again, continue to document Crane's pilfering...

Beauty stepped into Snow's space, her eyes widened in alarm, blocking her path to the elevator. It was only then that Snow realized she'd said that last bit out loud. 

She eyed Snow carefully, not unlike an opponent searching for weak points in her defenses. She said, "Why don't you take the day off?"

The fern had gotten over its surprise at Beauty's sudden appearance. It continued to grow fragile thin tendrils along the wall, climbing steadily up towards Snow's shoulder, as though it, too, thought she needed to be comforted.

She was still reeling from the unexpected concern that shone in Beauty's eyes. But Snow found herself smiling just a little, indulgent. "I can't do that," she said. "I'm the Director of Operations, I can't just—"

"You must be pretty worried about Bigby," Beauty cut in. She looked a bit alarmed to have interrupted her, but bravely went on, "Your heart wouldn't be in it, you'd be distracted..."

Snow leaned back against the wall. She raised her eyebrows. "If I can do my job while Fables are being murdered around me, I can certainly keep doing it when the sheriff is indisposed."

And that had come out more standoffish than she'd meant it to. But Beauty just scoffed. She tossed her hair back over her shoulder, and blurted, "I'm just saying you deserve a break!"

Her mouth already open for a retort, Snow paused. Even the fern froze, its newest, paper-thin leaves shivering uncertainly, like a child caught eavesdropping. In the hush, the faraway muffled argument seemed louder, voices drifting towards them down the corridor.

Beauty's cheeks had flushed with color, but she held her head high. "You _do,"_ she repeated. "And last time I checked, Bufkin was still down there, too. You don't have to do everything yourself. He can take care of a few of the... formal things."

Snow stared at Beauty in silence. For just a moment Beauty had seemed so sure, steadfast in her assessment.

 _Formal things._ In any other situation, she might've found herself smiling helplessly at that. If only her work were composed of pure formalities. If she had just been putting her signature on things and filing budget cuts, she wouldn't have been nursing the same waxing and waning headache for days.

The weight that pressed down on her was so much more than that. It was trying to rally the splintered community to her side, convince even the grouchiest, bitterest Fables that she could do better. Didn't Beauty know that it was Snow's duty to shoulder the unwieldy burden Crane had left—that it now fell to her to bear the rightful anger of those wronged by Crane's shoddy, selfish administration?

And she had to deal with people like Colin, by whom she could not do right no matter how hard she tried, and who would always be picking apart every word she said and turn it against her.

Beauty was watching her, earnest, almost entreating. She was not judging Snow for slacking off. She had seen that Snow was tired and was offering her a way out, like... like a friend, perhaps. 

When she'd strode out of Bigby's apartment and Colin's angry, judgemental look had finally moved off her back, Snow would never have guessed that Beauty would follow her. It wasn't that Snow was not grateful. But her kindness grated on Snow's sense of duty. It roused a need to stand firm just because the offered reprieve was so unexpected.

Snow found herself looking at the fern again. Its soil was rich and dark, well-watered. She saw no browned leaves or bent stalks. The witches were taking good care of it. The youngest, fragile leaves didn't seem bothered by the distant argument that still drifted around the corner.

"Do you think Colin's right?" Snow said to the fern. "Is Bigby— do I really see him in black and white?"

Beauty blinked. It was perhaps the last thing she had expected Snow to say. She hesitated, thrown by the turnabout. "I don't know?" she offered. It sounded more like a question than a statement.

Snow stepped away from the support of the wall. She took a deep breath and brushed her hair out of her face. That was not what she'd meant to ask, and it wasn't a question she should've been asking herself at all, let alone Beauty, who couldn't possibly have answered. She put on an apologetic smile, ready to dismiss her blunder.

But Beauty had squared her slim shoulders, as though bearing up under some extra weight. "What I do know is that you two get along," she said, determined and only a little uncertain. "You— you work well together. You figured out what happened to Faith and Lily. You dealt with the Crooked Man."

There was nothing calculating in Beauty's eyes, framed with an artful hint of eyeliner. She was too guileless to lie to Snow. If she said they were a good team, she meant it. And that...

Well. It wasn't really what Snow had asked about. But there in the hallway, with the distant argument just around the corner, she found that Beauty's determination warmed her. Perhaps Beauty couldn't fully understand what Colin had said, just as Snow didn't, but her words were genuine.

Snow shook her head. She pushed away from the wall. The fern's vines had almost reached her arm, and now drooped dejectedly before coiling back. She had hidden up here long enough, indulged her own confused jumble of thoughts far beyond what was acceptable. Fabletown hadn't stopped needing her guidance just because she'd been shouted at by a pig.

Discomfort flickered through her, but Snow mustered up a smile for Beauty. A propos of nothing, she asked, "Did you find an armchair?"

"Huh?" Beauty blinked, then caught up. "Oh, yeah. The blue didn't really fit the room but I figure if Bigby likes it, we'll just get him another one like it."

A dull sense of embarrassment descended upon her, by now rather familiar. Snow nodded, barely listening. She was ditching work, she'd let Colin lecture her in front of everyone, and now she had all but asked _Beauty,_ of all people, for reassurance.

Snow sighed. Her dignity was taking a number of hits today. She just wanted to move on before it got thoroughly trampled.

And those raised voices... one of them sounded more and more familiar, and Snow gratefully seized hold of the chance to escape. "I think that's our witch," she said and started walking, waving away the fern's far-reaching leaves as she went.

"Look, I'm hungover too, okay?" the witch was saying, when Snow rounded the corner. "But I told you, I can't pinpoint exactly when the enchantment'll lift."

The witch still sat by the door, right where Snow had left her after she'd delivered the meat. Her chair was tipped back onto its hind legs, tilting precariously. The book was still there too, with one finger tucked between the pages as a bookmark.

A painful-looking frown creased the witch's brow. She wasn't even snapping her gum or blowing bubbles with it. The ice pack was still affixed to her head, and even in the warm summer breeze that blew in through the open stairwell window, it didn't seem to have melted any.

The man she was speaking to was the Woodsman. He stood by the door, his ax leaning casually against the frame. His big arms were folded uncompromisingly across his chest.

"And that _means,"_ the witch said, with exaggerated patience, "that someone needs to watch him tonight, is that so fucking hard to understand?"

The Woodsman gave their new audience a disgusted look. Beauty was slightly out of breath from darting after Snow to keep up with her. Snow hadn't thought she'd tag along. But she had, and now her bewildered gaze rested on Snow like a physical touch.

"Lady, I've got a headache like you wouldn't believe," the Woodsman said to the witch, "and my ax is gonna end up in your pretty skull if you don't shut up."

The witch tipped her head back against the wall in exasperation. The ice pack stayed where it was. "Well, show me someone who's willing to keep an eye on him and I will!"

"I'll do it." 

For a moment, Snow almost looked around to see who had spoken—as if the voice could have belonged to anyone but herself, as if Beauty would've been foolish enough to say that.

The witch straightened up when she caught sight of Snow. She set the chair back on its front legs, one hand going to push her short hair back. She looked gobsmacked, eyes wide, her headache seemingly forgotten for the moment.

Beauty was jolted out of her befuddled silence. _"What?"_ she exclaimed. "But—"

The Woodsman found his voice next. "No, you won't," he said flatly.

"I will," Snow said coldly. The Woodsman was an uncouth drunkard and if he thought he had the right to deem her unfit for this task, he had another thing coming. She drew herself up to her full height. "You need someone to keep watch, here I am."

Beauty bit her lip, reeling, then changed tracks. "Ms. White...," she began. Her voice was soft with understanding.

She seemed to have forgotten that Snow had asked her to call her by her first name. Snow took a slow breath and tamped down the urge to snap at her, too. 

She knew what Beauty was going to say. She would tell Snow that she didn't need to prove anything to anyone. Colin's words had been nothing but petty harshness, and Snow shouldn't have let him get to her.

"Wow," the witch said at last, still stunned. She looked Snow up and down, a frank assessment. She chewed thoughtfully on her gum. "This is unexpected."

Snow opened her mouth. If this cheeky little misfit thought she could keep the deputy mayor from conducting this business as she saw fit... But the witch held up a hand to forestall her words.

"I'm not saying you can't," she said quickly. "All I'm saying is, what the hell brought this on? You didn't seem that eager to get too close earlier."

A bit of color rushed into Snow's cheeks. She blew out an exasperated breath. Now she was being made to feel ashamed for the way her hands had skidded across the fragrant grass in the magical room, like it hadn't been a perfectly normal reaction to a massive wolf lunging at her?

"That," she said, forcing her voice to stay level, "was a _lapse._ He surprised me, that was all. I don't see why I can't watch him, especially since I'm not hungover," she added with a pointed glare at the Woodsman.

"Ms. _White,"_ Beauty said again, distressed, and actually went so far as to put a tentative hand on her sleeve. "I don't think— what if, what if you get eaten?"

Snow looked at the three of them, the Woodsman's scowl and the witch's look of dazed disbelief, Beauty's pretty, frowning face. This was ridiculous. She was the deputy mayor, and she shouldn't have needed to argue her way into this. She _would_ take the night shift of watching Bigby, and she wouldn't tolerate anyone trying to dissuade her.

That last question, she could deal with, at least. Snow shrugged, with a casual air she didn't really feel. "He's had all that meat, I doubt he's still hungry."

Altogether, the Woodsman didn't look very surprised. Just impatient and kind of resigned. He appraised her with slightly bloodshot eyes. Under that gaze, Snow felt like an unruly child. She tipped her chin up and shot a challenging look right back. He could stare disapprovingly all he wanted.

"Well, I won't stop ya," he rumbled with a light shrug of his massive shoulders. "If you think you can handle it without getting one of those Mundy heart attacks."

Snow allowed her lips to pull into a smile. It wasn't a friendly one. Beauty's hand dropped from her arm, but she barely noticed. The Woodsman thought she was some sort of fragile fairy. He thought she'd take one step into the room and run right back out on her impractical heels. She would not justify herself to this brute.

"I can handle it," Snow said. She looked at the witch, who was staring at both of them with her mouth slightly open. "What do I need to do?"

* * *

Under a huge oak tree, more deeply than she'd thought possible, Snow slept.

It was not that the hard ground, only barely cushioned by grass and moss, was more comfortable than her bed, or that she preferred rough bark digging into her back to her smooth mattress. The thin blanket she'd spread over herself did not lend much warmth.

She wasn't sure what it was. But she slept, more restfully than she had all week. No dreams came to her—neither of Crane bending over her motionless form, nor of Faith and Lily. Her chin sunk forward onto her chest. Dew collected on her legs and her bare feet where they lay stretched out in the grass.

Maybe, she thought as she woke at last and and blinked blearily into the moonlight night, maybe there was some modicum of truth to what Colin had said. They were Fables, creatures of legend, each and every one of them, human-shaped or not. They had been made to live under open skies and the wide wild forests of the Homelands. 

They had made a virtue of necessity and settled in New York City as best as they could. But this place, this enchanted room, was the closest thing to their true home they could get in the middle of Manhattan. Perhaps the magic of the place had sunk into her welcoming bones and enhanced her sleep.

Or maybe she was just exhausted from this strange day. Her head had been pounding even worse when she'd finally sat down in the Business Office for a few hours. It had been hard to focus on the irate Fables. She recalled a fog of handing out forms and signing her name under a number of documents.

At least the work had bolstered her spirits a little. She'd been floundering all day. Those hours had helped her feel like she could still handle some things. She had decided she would watch Bigby tonight, and she had gotten some work done, so at least the day hadn't been a total loss.

Thus far, the night had been fairly uneventful. As soon as dusk had finally fallen on this warm summer evening, Snow had settled down by the oak. 

"You just need to keep an eye out for changes," the witch had told her, when Snow had briefly stopped by the door to tell her briskly that she was going in. "If you see more of that purple smoke, come get me."

That had sounded easy enough. For a while Snow had been tense, staring into the deepening shadows under the trees. Nothing had moved there, save for branches swaying in the evening wind. 

No hint of purple smoke, but Snow had looked until it'd gotten too dark. She was determined to do this right, no matter what the Woodsman or Beauty said. The new deputy mayor would not falter. Snow could do this. She could do her part in looking after the sheriff in his altered state.

The oak had shaded her from the sunset. Her heart had been beating a bit faster than normal as she'd watched the sky streak with reddish gold and fade into inky darkness. But the wolf had made itself scarce. It hadn't so much as rustled around in the undergrowth.

At nightfall, Snow had taken off her starched blazer and settled down to sleep. It had been strange, going to sleep under an open sky, even if it was a magical illusion. Through the leaves, she'd caught only a few glimpses of the stars.

By now, her headache was gone. The deep sleep must've cleared it out, like cobwebs brushed from an attic. The cool night air filled her lungs as she breathed deeply. She'd almost forgotten what it felt like not to have tension gather at her temples all the time, waiting to turn into pain.

Snow was just thinking of standing and stretching, walking around a bit to loosen her stiff back. But something went past across the clearing. A huge dark blot moved amidst the moonlit grass.

It was the wolf. It walked past with the air of one who'd trod the same path again and again. It did not look at her yet—its head was up, scenting the wind, those furred ears twitching as it listened to the night.

Perhaps it was circling its prey, stopping occasionally to see if she would move. Or, Snow thought and almost smiled with incredulity at her own thoughts, perhaps it was... patrolling. Circling the perimeter of Snow's sleeping form, out of some animal instinct not connected to hunger.

Snow must've made some noise, a change in her breathing or even just her heartbeat—she had no doubt Bigby could hear it. The wolf stopped when it saw her. Every muscle seemed to go still when their eyes met.

They really did glow in the dark—not much, but enough to create bright pinpoints. Snow quickly lowered her gaze. The Woodsman had told her, with his customary scowl, not to meet Bigby's eyes. He'd seen her off, arms folded and glowering, but still dispensing short tidbits of advice.

Now, it rankled a bit. Snow would never have lowered her gaze demurely to Bigby's human form. But she also didn't want his wolf shape to bite her head off because he felt challenged.

Slowly, placing its big paws deliberately in the dewy grass, the wolf came towards her. It was strange how such a huge being could move so quietly. Only a faint rustle of springy grass heralded its approach. It didn't growl or even bare its teeth.

The Woodsman had told her to keep her head low, not to challenge the wolf. She ducked her head. Her shoulders rounded forward, and she felt a first cold wash of real fear.

Her thighs nearly shook with tension where she sat, ready to fling herself at her discarded shoes and throw them as a distraction while she ran for the door. But the Woodsman had warned her that only prey ran from the wolf. As soon as she turned her back she'd be rousing strong, ages-old hunting instincts.

The wolf lowered its great head, ears tilted forward in curiosity. Moonlight glistened on fur—it was a bit damp, like the wolf had been running through the dew-dipped forest. Snow tried to scoot backwards. Her body felt rock-hewn, immovable and chilled in the moonlit night.

Stupid, she thought numbly, this whole thing was so stupid. She had thought she'd be— guarding Bigby somehow, while they waited for the enchantment to wear off. But she had brought nothing with her, just the thin blanket, not even a pocket knife. She wasn't a fighter like the Woodsman.

She hadn't seen the wolf all night. She'd felt so emboldened that she had even taken her shoes off. And now here she was, about to get mangled out of some foolish impulse to prove herself.

Those glowing eyes were trained unerringly on her. The wolf was so close now that she heard its breath. Snow flinched away before she could stop herself, her palms slipping on the grass and almost sending her sprawling.

The wolf nosed curiously at the grass, then sniffed her trembling hand.

Snow's heart pounded loud and insistent in her ears, a wild staccato. Her hand spasmed against the soft grass. Her fingers were like wooden sticks, numb with cold. If the wolf bit her, it'd be painless at first, until her nerves caught up.

The short hairs by the wolf's nose tickled her knuckles. Warmth wafted across the back of her hand with each little puff of breath he took as he inhaled her scent. Any moment now, those huge teeth would snap shut around her fragile flesh and tear her hand right off her arm.

The wolf did not bite her. He just spent some time cataloging the scent on her wrist, the cuff of her sleeve, and then, while Snow shook convulsively and did not breathe at all, her shoulder. 

There, it made the smallest noise, little more than a near-toneless huff of breath, just on the edge of a whimper. Snow flinched so hard that it hurt, all the way down the cramped muscles of her back.

Snow's vision was blurry with fear. The wolf pulled away, quickly this time, took an almost startled step back. For a moment the great beast stood still, poised on the edge of motion, taking in her fearful shaking—

 _Fear,_ Snow thought, as it suddenly clicked into place—the wolf had smelled her fear. It must've been rolling off Snow in great waves, the sour scent of the cold sweat that had beaded on her neck and her heartbeats deafeningly loud in the wolf's ears.

The wolf crouched to attack. Snow couldn't move. She was frozen with terror. Only her blood rushed in her ears, pumped onwards by the frantic beat of her heart. 

Cicadas chirped and trilled all across the clearing, and for a wild second Snow wondered if they'd all go quiet as soon as she cried out in pain. But the wolf—

The wolf lay down in the grass. The big head sunk low between its shoulders. There was no way for the wolf to make itself smaller, but it seemed to try anyway, pressing its belly to the ground. Snow could see the fur going dark and damp. 

Paws slipping in the moist grass, it scooted carefully forward until Snow's hand was within sniffing reach again. Warm breath tickled her knuckles. The wolf drew back. It rested its chin on the big front paws, and gazed silently at her with something like intent.

Dew had seeped through Snow's skirt. The blanket lay crumpled beside her, leaves of grass stuck to the fabric. Goosebumps had risen all down her legs. But little by little, her trembling, heart-pounding fright ebbed. She didn't feel quite so chilled anymore. A summery breeze warmed her cold hands.

She stuck to looking at the wolf's nose, rather than the eyes. Her vision wavered just the tiniest bit with every hard, thumping pulse of her heart. It wasn't that she could clearly recognize Bigby in those eyes... and yet, somehow, she spotted a shadow of him, even with her focus slightly off.

The wolf's eyes were golden. It was a color far removed from Bigby's usual warm brown. But there was something there, a kind of intelligence and awareness that studied her, perhaps not human in nature but still present.

Snow had to clear her throat twice. Even then, it still felt tight as a straw. Still, she managed to squeeze out a slightly breathless, "Hello there."

The wolf did not move from its odd crouch. But the ears twitched forward at her voice. The fur was tufted and soft-looking there, right where the witch had felt around as she'd checked Bigby over. 

Snow sucked in an unsteady breath. For just a moment, she thought for sure she'd burst into unhinged giggling. She was close enough to touch—if she'd been foolhardy enough to reach out, she could've checked for herself whether the fur really was as soft as it had looked under the witch's hands.

"This must be pretty strange for you," she said. She dared a very quick glance up at Bigby's eyes. The wolf just looked placidly back at her. "But I, I hope you know you're safe."

Another sudden swell of panic clutched at her chest. A shudder ran through her limbs, there and gone in an instant. What was she _doing?_

For some reason the wolf did not seem to want to tear the flesh from her bones just yet. She should've used the chance to get up on her cramping legs and retreat. She should've been rolling over onto her back and pretending to be dead, and hoping, hoping that someone would soon come to check on her. 

Instead, like specks of dust released into a faint current of air, her thoughts were moving onwards on their own accord. That single train of thought felt streamlined and sure, hunting down words to reassure the Big Bad Wolf.

"We're still in the Woodlands," Snow said. It was amazing how steady her voice was, when her ribcage felt like it was locked in a constricting vice. "You're enchanted, but we consulted a witch and she says it'll wear off. We— we thought you'd be more comfortable in here."

Stars and moonlight reflected in the wolf's eyes. The intelligence there seemed to ponder her words for a moment. 

Then Bigby stood, in a fluid, smooth movement. He shook his fur out a bit, getting rid of some dew and crushed grass that had been tangling in his long, brown coat.

The wolf went to prod curiously at her thin blanket where it lay crumpled by her feet. He closed careful, gleaming teeth around it and dragged it away, into the deep shadows cast by the huge oak trees that leaned their branches over the clearing.

The blanket sank limply down into the grass. The wolf gazed at her expectantly. He took a few prancing steps towards the tree line, then came back to nose at the blanket again.

It took Snow a moment to untangle her legs. She had to support herself with a hand on the ground to get up. Her legs felt like fallen branches that the forest had begun to reclaim as its own, overgrowing them with moss and grass. Clumsily, she rolled to her feet.

Standing up was a slow, cringing process. Little by little she uncurled, tried to keep her shoulders low. She hadn't forgotten what the Woodsman had said.

But the wolf did not seem interested in her posture just then, or even in where she looked. Across the little clearing, their gazes met almost by accident. This time, the contact went through Snow like a small electric jolt, an unidentified current running through her bones.

The wolf pulled the blanket further towards the trees. It kept looking back at her with its bright golden eyes.

Snow glanced back only once. The thirteenth floor was just within reach, behind the huge illusory stone wall that rose up at the edge of the clearing. The door almost seemed to beckon her. The handle gleamed in the moonlight.

She should have been taking slow backwards steps towards the wall. And yet... Something tingled in her, a slowly kindling, unknown flame, that seemed to feed on the tickle of grass under her bare feet and the taste of the air, soil and leaves and nocturnal dew.

When she passed by the blanket, she picked it up. The fabric felt a bit damp in her hands. Snow followed the wolf into the forest.

Under the trees, it was quiet. The incessant chirp and buzz of cicadas grew muffled, and Snow heard her own shaky breathing, the distant creaks and cracks of the forest as gentle wind moved through the trees and critters rustled around in the undergrowth.

They walked across fallen leaves and soil. Snow looked, but saw no trail. Her feet were startlingly pale against the browned leaves. They crackled uncomfortably beneath her soles, twigs snapping under her weight. Dirt clung to her toes.

Needles stung her palms as she bent a few spruce branches out of her way. The occasional tufts of grass were high and tangled, and tore with cool wetness against her calves when she walked through them.

Up ahead, the wolf's bushy tail kept snagging on bushes and rough bark. Twigs and vines broke and tore against its massive shoulders. It didn't look back, but both ears were tilted in her direction, and it was taking such slow steps, almost tiptoeing on its big paws, to allow her to keep up. 

Snow kept her eyes on the big tail in front of her, the slightly churned-up leaves where the wolf stepped. It was strange, walking through a forest at night. Snow didn't think she had done that in a long while. Some late evening strolls through Central Park, certainly, but even then she'd always been in a hurry, going somewhere.

She hadn't been barefoot, her feet growing damp and streaked with dirt. And she had not been following a huge wolf.

Leaves crunched under her feet. The mossy, rich scent of the forest fed that small spark in her chest. For a moment, it seemed to Snow that she was back at the Homelands, or perhaps at least at the Farm, far removed from Manhattan's incessant hustle and bustle and the yellow-lit rush of traffic through the night.

It didn't seem real. Like wading through a dream, or at least some half-awake illusion. Snow still dreamed of the Homelands sometimes, and this was like that, ancient trees bowing over her, the air rich with the wild, grassy smell of fertile earth and growth.

Up ahead, the trees parted. The moonlight grew, streaming down in thicker shafts through the leaves. After a moment Snow's naked feet touched grass again—they had emerged into another clearing.

Far above, the illusory sky stretched, inky and dark. Stars gleamed through the trees. This grove was smaller and wilder than the short, utilitarian lawn by the door. The grass here was tangled and tall, the stalks yellowed from the sun.

There was a tight cluster of birch trees up ahead. Their pale trunks gleamed in the moonlight. It was there that the wolf led her, and he looked almost excited about it, circling the trees and watching her with his head held high, ears pricked forward, every sense trained on her.

Snow ventured closer. This grass felt sturdier and sharper under her soles, and she wondered distantly if she'd have torn her feet open if she'd tried to run on it. The birches were slightly askew, tilted away from each other like fingers from the palm of a welcoming hand.

A patch of thin-leafed grass sprouted up between the trees. It felt silky-soft when Snow first knelt and then sat there, stretching her legs out awkwardly, trying to keep her dirty feet well away from her skirt. Strangely, no dew seemed to have beaded on the grass—she felt no wetness through her skirt. Instead, even the wind felt gentler here, the night air warm and snug.

The wolf poked his huge head into Snow's little abode. A flutter of fabric, then the blanket landed in her lap.

It was that that did it, somehow. The dream-like feeling tore open like a veil. Something yanked her back into her body, after a period of drifting only through her most distant thoughts. 

Even the breeze seemed to slow. Snow hardly dared to breathe. Transfixed, she stared up at the golden eyes. She'd followed the Big Bad Wolf into the woods. She had gone with him without second thought. And now here she was, closed in by birch trees, with not even her shoes to defend herself...

Even in the birches' warm shelter, her hands grew cold. Her pulse pounded hard against her ribcage. Something brittle and half-forgotten turned over in her chest, the fear crawling right back up.

If she ran now, the long, knotted grass would tangle around her feet. She wouldn't find her way back through the woods. She could've slipped out when the wolf had gone into the forest. Instead, she had come along placidly, like a lamb walking to the slaughter house. She should've brought a knife into the magic room. She should've at least stayed within shouting distance of the door.

And oh, _Bigby—_ what was Bigby going to say, once he came back to himself? Snow sat there, frozen like prey, but for a moment she almost laughed. Her sheriff would be utterly beside himself. He'd yell at her and—

No, he wouldn't outright yell. He never did that, never truly raised his voice at her. Perhaps he'd get a bit snappish. He would pace a groove into the floor, shooting her those wild, almost frightened looks she had only seen a small handful of times. He'd lecture her about safety and self-preservation and reckless foolishness.

But maybe, Snow thought, sudden and chilling—maybe, if she got injured badly enough to be bed-bound, maybe he wouldn't pace at all. 

He'd stay by the door, utterly still so as not to frighten her. He would apologize, the words gritted through his teeth like every one of them hurt. And Snow would be bandaged up in bed, unable to grab him and shake him back and forth until the guilt fell out.

Sweat beaded on Snow's neck. Her mussed hair clung uncomfortably to her skin. The wolf looked alarmed. It sniffed the air, then drew back, and made that soft noise again, that almost-whimper. The big ears drooped a little with something like resignation.

The wolf's paws were dampened from the dew. They turned two tight circles, flattening the sharp leaves of grass. Then the wolf lay down, right there in front of Snow's cluster of birches.

She blinked. Her feet twitched helplessly, close as they were to the wolf's massive snout. A shudder worked itself through her, and her toes curled as though in anticipation of rending pain. But this... this hardly seemed like the great beast was pondering which part of Snow might be tastiest. 

The wolf peered at her cautiously. It lay almost unnaturally still. Snow stared at him, the strong jaws which were now half-hidden by the grass, the paws that could've knocked her aside like swatting a fly, demurely stashed under the wolf's belly.

Snow had been staring at the wolf head-on, with no thought to submission. But there was no growl coming from that big chest. Snow met his golden gaze, and saw awareness and a bit of caution look back at her. Faint starlight reflected in the wolf's eyes and shimmered on his fur.

At last, Snow ended up with the blanket draped over her legs. Under the birches, the fabric had dried fast. It was lukewarm now, a welcome cover for her chilled skin. Her heartbeat pounded hard in her wrists and belly. Every thump shook her lightly, thrummed deep in her bones. 

The wolf still glanced at her from time to time, perhaps a little unsettled by her insistent, frightened pulse. The fur-tufted ears moved constantly, listening to the noises of the forest. Distantly, Snow wondered how big this room was—did the forest go on and on for miles, or would they have had to go only a little further to encounter more stone walls? Maybe the wolf could hear even the Woodlands, muted conversation and slamming doors and creaking antique furniture.

She could not have imagined falling asleep like this, with the wolf so close. She'd thought she would just sit there, in the strange bubble of dry, lukewarm air in her little grove. 

But at some point, Snow felt her head lean against the sturdy tree at her back. Her lids were so heavy. The small, heart-pounding surges of instinctive panic seemed to dull, smothered by her tiredness.

And the wolf wasn't doing anything. If he'd stood and prowled around, perhaps Snow's tightly stretched nerves would not have allowed her to feel tired at all. But Bigby just lay there in the grass, his muzzle pillowed on his paws. 

Even with a foot of untouched grass between them, Snow could feel the heat his body gave off, a distant drifting warmth. His flanks rose and fell slowly with his breathing. The fur looked rougher along his sides, a thick, protective coat. 

Snow sighed. She supposed that at this point it was alright not to make a run for it. If the wolf had wanted to rip her apart, it would have. Besides, Snow was tired, and she felt wrung out from the fear that had been surging and dimming all night. Maybe she wouldn't actually sleep, but she could at least rest her eyes.

The woods groaned and creaked around them. The cicadas weren't as loud here as they'd been by the door. Their chirps mingled with the rustling leaves until the noise became a comforting buzz.

She drifted in a strange half-asleep haze. A few times, Snow jerked back awake to the sound of twigs snapping behind her, or a loose curl of hair brushing across her face in the breeze.

Every time, the wolf lifted its head to look at her—but only ever for a moment, a quick, assessing glance. Then it settled back down, the golden eyes half-closing in a light doze. Only Bigby's ears were moving still, twitching this way and that as he listened to the forest.

The rough bark was firm and gnarled against her back. She felt herself sink deeper into the thin, fragrant grass. Her head was so heavy. It was surprisingly easy to just rest it against the birch, and let the grove and the starlight and even the wolf's huge form slide gently away.

* * *

When Snow woke up the next morning, the enchantment had broken.

Sprawled out on his stomach, Bigby lay right where he'd been last night. He even had one arm curled under his head like the wolf's paws, his stubbled cheek pressed snugly against his forearm.

A purple fog was billowing over him. It must've built up only a few minutes ago, and it was now drifting along with the morning breeze. If not for the color, it could've been just morning mist, brightening into pale lilac where the sunlight hit it.

For a long moment, Snow's mind remained fuzzy with sleep. She just blinked at the long sweep of Bigby's naked back. A small green bug that was making its way through the thick hair on his forearm, feelers scoping out its meandering path.

All at once she came fully awake. She sat up with a little gasp. Her thin blanket fell into her lap. 

The spell. The wolf. It all came back in a rush—Beauty in her pink rollers in front of Bigby's door, the Woodsman's ax slashing bright gleams of metal into the air by the wolf's forelegs... the bandaged wound on Colin's meaty thigh, and the ever-present chirp of cicadas in the nocturnal forest.

Behind her, the birch was hard and unyielding, but somehow the bark hadn't chafed through her blue blouse. When Snow turned her hands over, she noticed absently that she had to freshen up he naipolish. She patted at her stomach, wiggled her feet under the blanket. All her limbs appeared intact. No flares of pain erupted along her body.

It seemed that the wolf really had not been hungry last night.

Snow looked him over. The witch had said to look out for purple smoke, but that was thinning in the air, swept away towards the trees. It must've erupted when he'd transformed back. It certainly didn't seem to be causing him any pain. Bigby's back was rising and falling slowly with his breathing, even and deep. 

From this angle, Snow could see only a few of the healing bullet wounds. Those that were bare to her gaze looked... better. Not the raw, barely scabbed-over mess from that terrible encounter with Bloody Mary, when she'd paced up and down Bigby's small living room and felt his blood dry stiff and rust-colored on her blazer.

Bigby looked like he always did—no gaping wounds, no dislocated joints from the transformation, or whatever else could've happened as the enchantment wore off. Before, Snow hadn't thought to wonder if changing his shape hurt him. But he seemed to have slept right through it.

In the forest, birds had begun to sing and chirp, greeting the morning. The sky was streaked with rose-tinted clouds. Pale golden sunlight spilled into the clearing, growing stronger as the sun climbed up into the summer sky.

Snow drew her knees up. The grass felt silky between her bare toes. She took a moment to just look at Bigby, the familiar broad shoulders and tousled hair, familiar and human-shaped. His mouth was slack with sleep. Dew had settled high on his back. 

She rested her chin on her knees. It was so strange to think of, that he had transformed in his sleep and she hadn't roused at all.

Colin had said she was trying to cleave Bigby in two. Was that true? Was Snow really so preoccupied with keeping Fabletown under the Mundies' radar that she'd forgotten where they all had come from?

In the Homelands, nobody would've expected Bigby to even stay in his human form for longer than was convenient. But here... Snow sighed. In the artificially lit, busy concrete streets of Manhattan, the Homelands seemed very far away.

What Colin didn't seem to understand was that Snow couldn't just allow Bigby to run around Fabletown as a huge wolf. Everyone knew the gruesome stories about him. They both had a responsibility towards the citizens they'd been assigned to protect.

They were Fables, yes. She remembered that very well, no matter what Colin said. But this past week, Snow had made the decision that they did not need to be monsters.

And yet... last night, the wolf had been— careful with her. He hadn't seemed to like smelling the fear on her. She had met his gaze more than once, and yet she still lived to tell the tale. He hadn't so much as growled at her all night.

As if he'd heard the thought, Bigby started to wake. He turned his face further into his arm. He stretched a bit, long, lean muscles shifting along his back, then went still.

He came awake with a suddenness similar to Snow's own startled reaction. Before she could blink, he was sitting up in the half-flattened grass. When he caught sight of Snow he froze. His eyes were back to his normal brown, bright and startled in the morning sunlight.

"Good morning," Snow said, somewhat inanely. Bigby didn't seem to be aware that he was naked. She made an effort to keep her eyes on his face.

He glanced around wildly, perhaps in search of his clothes. Grass clung to his broad shoulders. Snow frowned—did he even remember his transformation? Perhaps all he knew was that he'd gone to sleep in his apartment two nights ago, and now woke up, apparently miles and miles from New York City.

Snow gathered up her blanket. She cleared her throat. "Here," she said, and held it out to Bigby, studiously looking at the far side of the clearing over his shoulder, and not at where the damp, wiry trail of hair on his stomach led down to his groin.

Without taking his eyes off her, Bigby covered himself. His palms were smudged with dirt, likely from their trek through the woods. He said, "Snow?"

His voice rasped a little. He spoke more quietly than Snow had expected. Perhaps he thought she wasn't real, an image cooked up by the enchantment. 

"Yes," Snow said. She folded her hands on her knees, tried to project calm. She couldn't be sure how much Bigby remembered. "It's okay," she ventured. "We're still in the Woodlands. This is the thirteenth floor."

Bigby's mouth worked soundlessly for a baffled moment. His gaze went from her mussed hair, to her bare, dirty feet. "The thirteenth—?"

Snow smoothed down her skirt. It seemed that she had to start at the beginning. She looked him over carefully, but there were no more traces of purple fog. He wasn't swaying in place the way he had right after the enchantment had hit him.

She decided that they had some time before she'd take Bigby to the witch. She cleared her throat. "What do you remember?"

Bigby's brow creased in a frown. He spoke slowly, feeling his way through the words as he said them. "We were cleaning out the Office," he said. "We... there was..."

He trailed off. His gaze snapped back to hers. Snow didn't think it was her imagination that he'd gone paler, his eyes wide with a sudden, tense urgency. "Colin?"

"He's fine," Snow interjected quickly. "Just a scratch, nothing dangerous. Dr. Swineheart patched him up."

Bigby exhaled. It sounded shakier than she was used to. He briefly passed a hand over his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Snow swallowed down further reassurance with some difficulty. She could've told him that Colin had been getting on her nerves just as much as usual, so he was recovering nicely.

Bigby drew his palm down his face, rasping over his stubble. He looked at her again. "I've been... here?"

"Yes," Snow said. "You got hit with an enchantment. The witch—we got a witch to take a look at you—well, she said it'd wear off in time. And your apartment is kind of small, so...," she trailed off and gestured at the sunlit clearing around them.

Bigby had to squint slightly against the morning sun. He didn't seem to notice the grass that had gotten stuck in his hair, or the cool dew on his bare skin. It was like a part of him thought he was still dreaming, because that would've made more sense than the jumbled memories he had retained from yesterday.

"Don't worry about your armchair," Snow added, into the silence. "Beauty is gonna get you a new one."

He gave her a thoroughly confused look, then shook his head slightly to get the memory to fall into place. There was something hunted about him, a resigned kind of tension in his eyes, as if he was bracing himself for a blow he could see coming. He looked— honestly, he looked... lost. 

Snow rested a palm on the grass to steady herself. It was dry and almost warm to her touch; the cool dampness of the night hadn't reached her birches. She would not tip forward on her knees and climb out of her grove. She wouldn't put a hand on Bigby's shoulder, though her fingers almost prickled with the remembered warmth of him, when she'd tried to steady him in the Office as the enchantment had spewed its purple smoke in his face.

And Bigby was staring at her again, she realized. His gaze sharpened, skittered over her and lingered once more on her feet. Snow fought the urge to roll her eyes. As if it was that hard to get over the fact that she'd taken her shoes off to sleep.

 _"Snow?"_ he said, incredulous, like he had just figured out that she really wasn't a figment of his imagination. "What— what are you _doing_ here?"

She told herself that Bigby had only just woken up from a strong magical spell. He needed some time to adjust. And she had been expecting this anyway. She had known Bigby would lecture her about self-preservation.

"I kept watch over you," Snow said levelly. 

She held his gaze and refused to wince. If he thought it was ridiculous that anyone should keep watch over the Big Bad Wolf, well, she wasn't going to give him an opening to express his amusement.

Bigby didn't seem to realize what a strange thing Snow had just said. He was even paler than when he'd just woken up. His gaze passed over her in disbelief. "And they just let you?"

Now Snow glared. She couldn't help it. _"Let_ me?" she repeated. "No one _let_ me do anything. I came in here by myself."

Although he still had to squint against the sunlight, Bigby managed to glare back quite impressively. Then he looked away, into the forest, a muscle in his jaw twitching. More to himself than to her, he muttered, "I'm gonna kill Woody."

Oh, honestly. Snow scowled—if she'd had her shoes with her, she could've marched off into the forest. This was— well, it was entirely expected, but still ridiculous. She was the damned deputy mayor of Fabletown, and her decisions didn't need to be vetted by the Woodsman, of all people.

"Did you hear what I said?" Snow snapped. "He had nothing to do with it, I'm here because I wanted to be!"

Her voice echoed slightly across the clearing. A small flock of birds was startled into flight from a nearby tree. Their small black shapes flitted across the rose-tinted sky. 

Bigby opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked utterly gobsmacked. This time he met her eyes, with a sudden shock of recognition—though he'd been glancing at her feet with incredulity, it felt like now was the first moment when he truly saw her, her disheveled hair and wrinkled blouse.

A prickly, uncomfortable heat rose to Snow's face. She set her jaw and refused to glance away. She couldn't do anything about her fair skin going a blotchy pink, but she would damn well not look down like some chastened girl.

She had skipped almost a whole day of work. Now here she sat, barefoot, with pieces of bark likely stuck in her hair. Her make-up was smeared. She had misbehaved, certainly. She had shirked her responsibilities and let some prideful and protective whim cajole her in here tonight. 

Couldn't Bigby see that what was done was done? Snow had stayed with him last night, and that was that. It was over, and nothing he said could change it now. The enchantment had lifted, and Snow had done her part in watching over him.

Bigby exhaled harshly. His eyes were like hot coals, not quite glowing, but fixed on her with an urgency that made the hairs on Snow's forearms rise into goosebumps that had nothing to do with the morning breeze. 

Finally he looked down. His brow creased. To the flattened grass, he said, haltingly, "Did I— hurt you?"

 _"No,"_ Snow snapped.

Then she hesitated. Some of her irritation fizzled out. His shoulders were hunched now, still braced against an unknown impact.

How much did Bigby actually remember of last night? Maybe he had glanced around at the small clearing and concluded that the wolf had lured Snow here to make an easier meal of her.

Last night, she hadn't been so sure. But now, she felt a stubborn conviction that all the wolf had done was to find her a sheltered place to sleep. The grass had remained dry all night. A pocket of lukewarm air had been stuck amidst the birches, and the tree trunk behind her had cushioned her well.

She peered cautiously at Bigby. They would have words about that very soon, and Snow would thoroughly disabuse Bigby of the notion that the Woodsman had— had _allowed_ her to take the night shift. But maybe it was alright to relent for now. They'd both had a strange day.

Snow folded her hands on her drawn-up knees. "Nothing happened," she said firmly. "I— I made sure there were no complications with the enchantment."

Bigby tossed her a quick glance. He seemed relieved that she wasn't glaring anymore. "Enchantment?" he repeated, but before Snow could explain, he frowned to himself. "That jar with the purple smoke, wasn't it?"

Snow nodded, a bit surprised that he'd caught on so quickly. The memory of that evening at the Business Office must've come rushing back. 

He was still sitting up straight, with no hint of dizziness. Snow watched him narrow his eyes against the growing sunlight. "Do you feel alright now?"

As soon as the words were out, a small stab of contrition hit her. She should've asked that sooner. Here she was, arguing with Bigby, when she should long since have ushered him out of the magical room to the witch. 

Bigby drew his hand down his face again, like he was remembering the smoke's residue. "Yeah," he said. He squinted up at the sky for a moment. "I'm fine."

He got to his feet—carefully, because he was still clutching the blanket to himself. Snow averted her eyes as Bigby wound the blanket around his hips more securely. She busied herself with getting to her feet too, and tugging down her wrinkled blouse as best as she could.

A familiar open palm appeared in front of her. Bigby's fingers were dirty from his pawed trek through the forest. He offered her his open hand to help her out from between the tightly-clustered trees.

In that familiar hand, not a single trace of the change was visible. It looked like it always did, the short nails and the broad, tanned knuckles. There was no shadow of bruises where bones must've reformed in Bigby's sinewy fingers. 

She saw his slight cringe as he suddenly noticed the smudges of dirt. But he didn't withdraw. Snow put her paler, smaller hand into his, braced the other against the tree, and stepped out into the dew-covered clearing.

Bigby's palm was warm and dry. Then he let go. Snow's fingers tingled with belated reaction. The moment was over so quickly that it hardly seemed to have happened.

Snow carefully set her bare soles onto the sharp, sturdier grass. She cleared her throat, pulled on the sleeve of her blouse again. The Snowflake pattern was dotted with grass and bits of bark. With a sudden, distant flash of embarrassment, she hoped that she hadn't leaned too much of her weight on Bigby. It hadn't felt that way—she'd only used his hand as a support to balance herself.

She smiled at Bigby to cover the strange lapse in her thoughts. "I hope you know the way," she said, and gestured at the thick forest around them, aiming for some levity.

The morning breeze stirred Bigby's mussed hair, shaking loose a few pieces grass. She caught a glimpse of his eyes, fixed on her, before he seemed to mentally shake himself much the way Snow had just done. 

"I do," he replied. He tipped his head at the forest. "Come on."

This time, they walked side by side. Shifting shadows moved over them as shafts of sunlight trickled through the thick canopy of leaves. Birds chirped and fluttered around in the undergrowth. 

In the soil, their bare feet were keeping pace with each other, Bigby's gait confident and sure although he now walked on two legs and not four. It had looked so different last night in the blueish twilight, when Snow's pale feet had stepped into the prints left by the wolf's paws.

Without preamble Snow found herself smiling, a small and secretive one, just to herself.

She had done it. Even the Beauty's objections and the witch's skepticism hadn't stopped her. Yesterday had been such a mess. She'd ditched work, fled from the self-righteous rage of a pig... but at night, she'd rallied. The wolf had been— calm around her, certainly, if not friendly. It was like it'd known that she'd been there to watch over him.

Finally, Snow breathed out—fully, it seemed, for the first time since the door had closed behind her last night. She probably looked terrible, her lipstick all but gone, mascara smudged around her eyes. But something stirred in her chest, an unfurling warmth, and it took her a moment to realize that it was pride.

When they emerged into the clearing, the Woodsman was waiting for them.

The sight of him went through Snow in a sudden triumphant rush. She bit her lip to tamper down her outright grin. There he was, come to collect her remains. He must've expected to find her torn to pieces, or whole but stiff with death from fright.

He was too far away to make out his expression. Snow made a conscious effort to stop smiling. She would not rush to the door and gloat, and she would certainly not ask how his hangover was faring in the sunlight. 

She'd greet the Woodsman with the cool dignity that befitted a deputy mayor. Snow held her chin up high and marched out into the brilliant morning sunlight.

Bigby threw her a confused look, but lengthened his strides to keep up. A light mist hung in the air and seemed to billow up towards the huge sandstone wall that marked the edge of the magical room.

If the Woodsman had felt surprised at all, he'd hidden it by the time they got to him. His grim scowl was back in place, mostly hidden beneath his beard. He stood by the oak where Snow had settled down first; she spotted the light blue of her shoes in the grass. 

More dirt had gotten stuck to Snow's feet, browned leaves and twigs. Some of it rubbed off in the dewy grass. The Woodsman's ax was draped over one muscular shoulder. There was no bag in sight, though Snow was sure he'd put something in the hallway to drag her remains out of the room.

The Woodsman looked them both up and down. His gaze passed across Snow's dirty feet and took in the grass in Bigby's hair. He seemed almost disappointed that Snow hadn't suffered a Mundy heart attack. 

At last he cleared his throat. He tilted his head at Snow in disapproval. "You know, last time I checked, the role of Red Riding Hood was taken."

Snow opened her mouth to reply. But then she caught a glimpse of Bigby at her side, and saw the blotchy flush that crawled up his neck. 

He refused to look back at her. Real anger sparked in his glare, firmly fixed on the Woodsman—anger not for himself, Snow realized, but for the slight that'd been aimed at her.

There was a moment when Snow's chest felt constricted and weightless, like she'd missed a step going down some stairs. Then she took a deep breath. Well, she was not embarrassed. and she wouldn't let either of them think she was. And she wouldn't hurry to defend herself. 

She gave the Woodsman her best dismissive smile. "I'm wearing blue," she corrected, quite calmly, and went to gather up her shoes.

**Author's Note:**

> "I'll just write a quick post-game wolf!Bigby fic," I said. "It'll be 7k at most," I said. In other news, I still can't be trusted to estimate the length of my own writing. 
> 
> The poem by Dylan Thomas makes me so happy. I can't remember how I found it, but I do recall I was about 12 and was just getting more seriously into writing as a hobby. When I read it for the first time my jaw just dropped. I decided then & there that I wanted to be able to write like that one day. It impressed me so much. For weeks I wrote it down everywhere, in crayon, in watercolor, pencil, what-have-you. I only really get the first stanza, the rest kinda goes over my head. I want to write Snowby fic about every single one of the lines quoted above though, it's just so beautiful!
> 
> This fic was my Camp NaNo project in July & turned out quite differently from what I had planned. I really hope you enjoyed it. :D
> 
> I am on [Tumblr](http://derryday.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to say hi. (Or leave a prompt or whatever. No promises though, ahaha. ~~One day I will be one of those authors who churn out prompt fic all the time! One day.~~ )


End file.
